All of Me
by MyShame7
Summary: Sometimes, something is so broken that no matter how hard you try, the pieces simply will not fit together again. Post Truth and Consequences. The journey home for Tony and Ziva with later chapters continuing on to Jet Lag. Angst and Angst. Rated M for triggers and safety and smut in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**Warning: May contain triggers for some. Allusions to sexual abuse but not graphic. **

**Post Truth and Consequences, Tony and Ziva on the journey home and in the time before she is reinstated to NCIS. Yeah it's probably been done before and by much better writers but this little angst bunny set up camp in my head and would not go away! Assumes a previous sexual relationship in S3 which was terminated when it was clear that they could never just be partners with benefits. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS or any of it's characters. **

_Sometimes, something is so broken that, however long you may try to make sense of the chaotic remnants, its pieces simply will not fit together again._

* * *

She didn't say more than five words to him before they entered the heavily armored air lift. Tony could tell how badly she was hurting by the disjointed movements of her hips as she stumbled through the sand. She had insisted on climbing inside the chopper under her own power even though clearly past the point of complete exhaustion. He had to admit a deep admiration for her strength. Her stalwart Ziva stubbornness gave him hope that there was more of her left than her hollowed and haunted eyes betrayed.

He had seen similar behavior in other newly liberated hostages. She had stared down the barrel of utter despair, finger poised on the trigger for so long that her mind was now struggling to accept her own salvation. Her body, however, had been drawing on its last reserves for longer than he cared to think about and now that it sensed safety, it was slowly shutting down on her. By mutual unspoken agreement, he, Mcgee, and Gibbs would let her stand on her own two feet until her legs buckled beneath her. That she could still place one willful foot in front of the other was a miracle he would surely remember to thank someone for later.

The ground fell away beneath them as they rose smoothly into the air, banking sharply left toward the distant coast and the air craft carrier that awaited their safe return. Ziva was wedged firmly alongside his hip and shoulder, buffered on her other side by the stoic and reassuring presence of Gibbs. To her credit, she managed to hold her head high for the first 15 minutes of the flight before slowly wilting against him.

Tony met Gibbs's eyes over the top of Ziva's lolling head, saw the almost imperceptible nod he gave, and swallowed the lump that rose in his throat as he unfastened her harness. He gently slipped an arm beneath her knees and secured another around her shoulders, pulling her body snuggly to him so that her forehead rested against the pulse point at his throat. Even with the vibration of the chopper, he could feel her heart beating steady and strong next to his. She smelled like sweat and blood and pain and other things he couldn't even bear to think about but the solid weight of her in his arms was the most gratifying feeling he could imagine.

She didn't stir when they finally touched down on the noisy flight deck or when Gibbs lifted her briefly so that Tony could unstrap himself. His muscles tensed in the absence of her reassuring warmth but Gibbs seemed to sense his need almost immediately and transferred Ziva back into his arms without comment.

A medical crew met them on deck with a stretcher but he refused to relinquish his hold on her, insisting on awkwardly negotiating the narrow portals and passageways between the deck and sick bay with his precious burden in hand. The flat hard look in his eyes told everyone he encountered that arguing the point of his own evident exhaustion would be utterly fruitless.

The only sign of her remote consciousness was the tiny whimper she gave when Tony gently deposited her on the crisp white linens of the hospital bed in the infirmary. He smoothed the hair back from the filthy and tear streaked skin of her face before stepping back as attendants swarmed to her side and swept a protective curtain between them.

A strong hand on his shoulder prompted him to turn around. Gibbs was regarding him with something suspiciously close to sympathy and it made him extremely uncomfortable.

"Dinozzo." Gibbs's voice was hushed, also not a good sign.

"Yeah boss, I'm just gonna hit the showers, be ready for debriefing in 20 flat." He turned toward the infirmary doors but was stopped dead by the firm pressure of Gibbs's hand against his sternum.

"That one's for you."

He followed Gibbs's finger to another hospital bed not far from Ziva's concealed one. "Really Gibbs, I'm fine. I just need to wash up, find some really good lip balm, drink some Gatorade…I'll be good to go."

"A terrorist held you captive, Dinozzo. He beat you upside the head a few times, not that I can really blame him, and injected you with god knows what. You're not going anywhere." He stepped closer and pitched his voice so that only Tony could hear. "Don't leave her."

"Now that you mention it boss, I am feeling a little fuzzy." He looked over Gibbs's head to where Mcgee was slowly backing away.

"Same goes for you McGee." Gibbs didn't even bother turning around. "Debriefing can wait." He looked pointedly at Tony. "I'll be back after everyone's gotten some rest."

* * *

After three hours of IV fluids and more poking and prodding than he was entirely comfortable with, Tony was pronounced in relatively sound health. The blows to his face had broken no bones and his blood work showed only minute traces of whatever chemical agents he had been injected with.

He had been allowed a trip to the showers and as he watched the desert grime flow in a seemingly endless stream from his body to the drain, he wished he could cleanse the image of an utterly broken Ziva from his mind.

She had awoken after an hour in the infirmary while the Ship's Nurse began washing the filth from her limbs in an attempt to assess her injuries. The sound of her cries and the pained grunts of the unfortunate corpsman who had been assigned to hold her roused him from the edge of sleep. He grabbed his IV pole, pulled the curtain aside and almost immediately wished he hadn't.

Her struggle stopped the moment she saw him and she quickly drew a sheet from the bed in a futile attempt to cover herself.

She wasn't fast enough.

Now, as he closed his eyes and let the steaming water pour over him, the remembered image of every angry bruise on her breasts and ribs, every half-healed and weeping gash and welt on her back and hips, seemed burned across the inside of his eyelids. Raging fury welled inside of him and he regretted only that the death of her assailant had been so quick and that he had not been able to add his own bullet to that of Gibbs's.

When he returned to the infirmary, she looked much cleaner and much calmer. Her hair had been washed and now spread like a damp dark halo on the pale pillow beneath her head. Her hands were folded atop the sheets and she looked…peaceful.

The nurse bustled over to him. "We've given her a sedative, nothing too strong, just enough to help her sleep for a few hours." She looked up at him, mouth twisting in disgust. "I've seen human beings do terrible things to each other Agent Dinozzo, but this..," her voice broke and she cleared her throat, resuming her professional mask. "I've been given orders to let you stay with her until she wakes. Let's hope you fare better than our corpsman." She turned and strode back across the room to the aforementioned corpsman who was now sporting a dislocated shoulder for his trouble.

He noted that a padded reclining chair had been placed beside Ziva's bed for his comfort. Mcgee was nowhere to be seen but when he asked, he was told that Gibbs had come to drag him off to debriefing.

Avoiding her IV, he slipped his hand between the rails on her bed and rested it over hers. He leaned forward and, laying his head across the folded crook of his arm, watched the shadows on her face and listened to her rasping snore until his eyes drifted closed.

* * *

It was the silence that woke him.

He lifted his head to find Ziva contemplating him with dark liquid eyes in the dim light. Someone had pulled the curtain around them for privacy and turned down the harsh overhead fluorescents.

"Morning." He sat up and winced at the painful kinks that had formed in his neck and back.

"How long was I off?"

He smiled and glanced at his watch. "You were only _out_ a couple of hours. How do you feel?"

Her eyes drifted down to where his hand still covered hers. "Tony," her voiced was hushed, "about…about earlier…"

He tried to push the image of her mutilated body from the space between them, tried to keep the burning pain behind his eyes from spilling over.

"Please do not tell the others. Please do not tell Gibbs." Her voice was strained and pleading.

He was helpless to do anything other than watch as tears began to flow down her cheeks. "Ziva…"

"Promise me Tony. I can bear the pain. I can bear the memory of everything that was done to me, but I could not bear it if they were to look at me..." She drew a deep shuddering breath and continued, "If they were to look at me as you are looking at me now."

* * *

**More to come and soon. **


	2. Chapter 2

**_Thank you all so much for the comments on this story. I just felt there was so much more that needed to happen between scenes in T&C and Reunion. I am trying to keep this as close to fitting in with canon as I can. Also, I am trying to fit in some of the silliness of T&C such as them arriving back at NCIS wearing the same clothes from earlier. Really? No one gave them a change of clothes? It's not like they just hopped a plane from Somalia and flew straight back to DC. Anyway, even though it is NCIS's bad, I have stuck with it here. _**

**_At least one more chapter coming for the time between their return home and their return back to work (obviously they had a bit of time off as the cuts to McGee's face are miraculously healed in Reunion). Last chapter will jump ahead to Jet Lag and how I think all of this led up to and affected things happening there. _**

**_Thanks again so much for reading!_**

* * *

_Hope is your survival..._

_No matter where you go, I will find you_

* * *

Three hours after waking at Ziva's bedside, Tony was again dressed in his formerly sweat soaked desert attire which had, thankfully, been stripped of some of its stains and foul odor by the ship's laundry service.

He had been evicted from his place at her side as soon as the lurking medical staff had detected that she was awake. Since then, he had spent most of his time pacing anxiously outside of her curtained off space as her wounds were tended and dressed for travel and the IV finally removed from her arm. He glared at anyone who approached and snarled at those who made the grievous error of telling him he should lie down. This led the bustling staff to circle him warily and refer to him in hushed voices as "Agent Guard Dog".

The hair on the back of his neck bristled each time he heard Ziva's muted whimpers. She was trying to keep quiet but judging from the quick look he had gotten at her many wounds, some were swollen and infected and would certainly be painful when subjected to treatment. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a place he just couldn't go right now, he knew they were treating more than the injuries he had seen on her skin.

He nearly ran over McGee when he came to tell him that Gibbs wanted him in debriefing.

"How is she?" McGee glanced toward where Ziva lay.

Tony could read the deep concern in his eyes and he fought to keep his face relatively blank in an attempt to protect her secrets. "She has a lot of fight left. She just needs time." It wasn't a lie, just an avoidance of complete truth.

"And I assume that's why you're pacing like a caged lion beside her bed?"

He grabbed McGee's arm, perhaps a little more forcefully than he intended. "You don't leave her alone for a second while I'm gone, got it?"

Instead of backing down, McGee stepped closer and met Tony's stare with an icy one of his own. "You aren't the only one who put _her_ life before his own."

He loosed his arm immediately, recoiling in shame. Of course. Tony had gambled his life on the mere possibility of retribution for the death of his partner. McGee had made the same wager but for different stakes and he had held firm to his belief that she was alive even when every piece of evidence pointed to the contrary. Whose sacrifice had really been the nobler one? He scrubbed a shaky hand through hair which still felt remarkably dusty. "You're right Tim, I'm sorry."

"Nothing's going to happen to her. She's safe now Tony, and we're going home. They're scrambling a transport as we speak to fly us to the base in Sigonella and from there we catch a flight back to the US. It's over. Ziva's coming home."

He wanted to find McGee's speech reassuring but deep down he knew that getting home was only the beginning of their problems. Driving blindly into the desert? Being beaten, drugged, and nearly killed by international terrorists? These things were speed bumps compared to the skyscrapers they would have to hurdle to mend what was broken between them. He didn't want to think about the mountains Ziva had yet to climb on her way to remembering what _home _was.

* * *

The debriefing was fairly uneventful considering their mission was a success and the team had suffered minimal losses. A few standard questions and some artistic avoidance later, Tony once again found himself gazing down a seemingly endless length of carrier deck as he awaited the rest of the team. The screaming engines assaulted his hearing and the acrid and smothering scent of jet fuel and sea air invaded his nose and mouth, effectively drowning his senses. In that moment he knew what it was to truly hunger for the sight of someone.

Relief flooded through him when Ziva was finally escorted onto the deck, limping delicately toward the transport beneath the watchful eye of McGee. She turned toward him and caught him starring but did not look away from his gaze. With the bombardment of IV fluids and nutrients she had received in the last several hours, her eyes already appeared less hollow, her skin less wan beneath the vast array of yellowed bruises. A shower hadn't done her any harm either. He told himself that the spark of life, of cold grim defiance he saw in her, was more than just a trick of the light.

Shoulders back, he boarded the transport and took up a place across from McGee and Ziva. Even Mcgee seemed slightly wary of her, as if a word or a touch would reduce her to ash and send her scattering on the wind. The silence beneath the roar of the engines was palpable. Tony regarded her across the intervening space and felt a pang of guilt for wishing she was once again passed out in his arms. Everything had seemed so much simpler when all he had to do was hold onto her. As if she could feel him looking at her, she raised her chin and locked eyes with him.

He wasn't quite sure what to make of the emotions he read on her face. Now that the world around her had begun to turn again, she seemed to be able to make no sense of his place in it. He was a case that had been all but closed until, at the final hour, a new piece of evidence appeared to turn every theory she had completely upside down. Then again, perhaps it was her own place she was now uncertain of. She opened her mouth to speak but it seemed whatever she had been about to say was stuck in her throat. Instead, she turned to McGee and reached out a hand to gently squeeze his.

"Thank you," she said simply, turning back at the last moment to include Tony in her offering. She glanced over at Gibbs who had closed his eyes and leaned his head against the steel hull the moment they were in the air for their short flight. Her eyes darkened again and she fixed her gaze to a rivet just in front of her foot.

It was a start.

* * *

The short hop across the Med landed them at Sigonella Naval Air base on the coast of Sicily. Exhausted as he was, Tony wished they had a few days of R and R in this idyllic setting before heading home. To his everlasting disappointment, a very shiny jet already awaited them across the tarmac. Apparently the Navy was rolling out the red carpet for the return of its newest poster boys in the war on terror. He turned to the edge of the runway where the base bordered lush fields.

"Ah, my mother land," he sighed dramatically to no one in particular.

The smack to his head came out of nowhere. "You're from Long Island, Dinozzo. Get on the plane."

Ziva stood on the runway, face turned toward the southwest, into the wind and sun. Tears streamed silently down her cheeks. He moved toward her but this time it was Gibbs's hand on his shoulder that stopped him. He watched as Gibbs placed an arm around her and mouthed something into her ear. There was no way of telling what passed between the two of them but Ziva nodded slowly, swiped angrily at her cheeks and allowed Gibbs to escort her up the stairs of the waiting jet.

Once on board, the entire team seemed to be waiting on Ziva to set the tone for the ten hour flight into DC. It was early evening in Sicily and they would be racing the sunset across the ocean.

Under different circumstances Tony would have loved to take advantage of the plane's incredible amenities. Leather seats, wet bar, flat screen TV, flight attendants? This was certainly not a standard Navy issue jet. He really did have a special place in his heart for flight attendants.

Ziva shrugged off the overly solicitous staff and all of their many offerings with the exception of a bottle of water.

She turned to them as they selected seats. "Please understand, I know that I have many things I need to say to you all. I have accepted certain facts about my life in the time that I have been…away." She swallowed hard but continued. "I only ask that you give me time. I did not dare to hope that I would ever…" Her voice broke and she turned to the back of the plane, selecting a row of seats at the very rear.

After takeoff, he watched as both Gibbs and McGee reclined their seats, clearly intending to use the relative silence of the long flight to catch up on many lost hours of sleep. He took a seat at the window, fastening his belt only moments before the plane began taxiing down the runway. He watched the earth fall away and the intense blue-green of the Mediterranean fill the space below him. In the far distance he could see the ever shifting sands of Africa drifting down to meet the sea.

He tried to follow Gibbs and McGee's example but each time he closed his eyes, Ziva's dirty and bruised face, the most beautiful face he had ever seen in his life, seemed to be lurking just behind his eyelids. He turned in his seat and snuck a glance back in her direction. Her head was bowed but he could see that her eyes were glued to some unknown point in front of her. As he watched, he saw her eyelids flutter and close, head dropping forward until she suddenly snapped upright again and resumed her fixed stare.

Unclasping his seatbelt, he stood up and stretched dramatically, moving into the isle. He walked casually toward the rear of the plane trying hard not to spook her. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Gibbs spoke softly at his elbow.

"Let her be Dinozzo."

He looked down at Gibbs, who had opened his eyes but otherwise remained in the posture of sleep. "Can't, boss."He didn't offer further clarification.

Gibbs regarded him levelly, taking in all those things he simply couldn't say. Whatever he saw seemed to satisfy his need for an explanation. He nodded slightly and closed his eyes again.

Foregoing the ruse of stretching his legs, he reached into an overhead compartment and removed a blanket and two pillows.

Ziva was so focused on fighting to stay awake that she didn't notice his approach until he slid into the seat next to her.

"Hey sleepyhead," he said softly, "this seat taken?"He offered her a pillow.

"I am not tired," she said flatly.

"Liar, you can barely keep your eyes open. You should get some rest. I think there will be more than a few people who want to talk with you as soon as we get off of this plane and most of them aren't going to be entirely certain they're glad to see you alive."

"Tony, I am not yet certain that I am glad to _be_ alive," she confessed quietly.

"Speaking as someone who was almost certain you were dead, I can be glad enough for both of us for a good long while." He closed his hand around hers, partly in consolation, partly to reassure himself again that she was indeed solid. They sat in silence for a moment, lost in their own private pain. "Do you want to talk about him? About Salim?"

"I do not." She shook her head and lifted her eyes to his. "Tony, I cannot."

The tears were threatening again and he knew better than to push. Part of him was relieved because deep down he wasn't sure he really wanted to hear. "Do you want to talk about…other things?" He let it hang there, giving her the opening if she was ready to take it.

Her eyes softened. "I know that I must be the one to find a way to make things right and I hope that I will, in time. Right now it is all I can do to remember how to breathe."She took a deep shuddering breath. "I feel like I am waking from a nightmare to be confronted by a dream and I am not sure if anything is even real any more. I am afraid that if I close my eyes, the dream will disappear."

He draped an arm protectively around her shoulders, not sure which one of them he was really trying to comfort. "From now on, Ziva, in every one of your nightmares, you'll know I'm coming to find you. Hope is an immensely powerful weapon."

"Tony…"

The conversation was getting…uncomfortable. He yawned loudly. "Now, I know that _I_ am exhausted but I _also_ know there's no way I'm going to be able to sleep until I hear that chainsaw snore of yours letting me know that you're getting some rest."

"I do not snore," she protested as she yanked the pillow from his grasp.

He thought he detected just a hint of a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. Reaching out, he gently tucked a stray hair behind her ear, fingers skating lightly over her cheek. "Remember who you're talking to." It was something they never spoke of, not even when they were alone, but he knew he didn't have to say any more.

He lifted the armrest between them and she settled her pillow against his shoulder, drawing her knees up and tucking her feet beneath her. Draping the blanket over her awkwardly, he let his hand rest lightly on her hip. She relaxed next to him gradually and it wasn't long before her breathing grew steady and even. He was thankful that in her current position, her snore was merely that of a drowsy badger rather than a hibernating grizzly. He pressed his lips delicately to her forehead, smiling against her hair as he slowly lost consciousness.

* * *

**I am biting my nails hoping that this story continues to live up to all of your praise!**


	3. Chapter 3

**This latest installment has taken this even deeper into the H/C realm that I really intended with this fic so if you like that kind of thing, you probably won't be disappointed. Again, thank you all for the continued comments, I am really enjoying writing NCIS.**

* * *

Tony was restless. He couldn't remember the last time he had taken more than twenty four hours off, let alone a mandatory week of leave. Despite Gibbs's staunch resistance, Vance had been quite clear that if he saw him or the team even enter the parking garage he would have them forcibly escorted from the building. Under different circumstances he might have tried to enjoy his rare liberty. Instead, he found himself motivated to do little more than skulk around the house.

His apartment smelled funny. After cleaning every half empty take out container from the fridge, searching every corner and couch cushion for dirty socks or the ever elusive lost slice of pizza, and finally taking out the trash, he realized this was just simply how his apartment smelled…always. He had clearly never spent enough time there to even notice.

Even more troubling were the cracks in his ceiling which, after spending the last two nights lying awake and staring at them, seemed to eerily resemble the profiles of Gibbs and McGee doing…well, something he really didn't want to picture Gibbs and McGee doing. Of course, now that his mind had formed the image he really couldn't _un_see it so he simply rolled to his side and prayed for sleep to come.

It didn't.

His body was exhausted, his head a mess, and at 2am as he paced back and forth, he realized that each pass brought him closer and closer to his front door. He wanted a case, he wanted to pull his hair out, he wanted to punch something, but more than anything he wanted _her. _The sight of her, the smell of her, just _something_ other than the emptiness that was already beginning to creep in around the edges of the spaces in him that were hers.

"Fuck it," he said to the silence of his apartment. He grabbed his keys, phone, and wallet and barreled through the door. She might need time but she also needed _him, _no matter how proud or stubborn she was being about it and he wasn't going to spend one more night staring at his very disturbing ceiling cracks waiting for her to reach out.

* * *

It took three phone calls and a few promises to find out which room she was staying in at the DC Navy Lodge, a flash of his badge and some quick talking to get past the military guards at the hotel, and an hour of pacing the hall outside her room before he finally raised his fist to her door.

"Tony," she answered, emerging slowly and leaning wearily against the doorframe.

His name fell like lead from her lips. She didn't even bother asking why he was there. Someone had planted a heavy boot to his chest that squeezed his heart and made every breath an effort. He ached with all of the words he had rehearsed over the last few days for this moment but somehow none of them seemed right when confronted with the haunted world of pain behind her eyes. She didn't seem exactly surprised to see him and, while she certainly didn't look overjoyed to find him outside her door at nearly 3am, he thought he detected just the slightest note of relief in her voice.

"Ziva." He wished that the simple syllables of her name had not caused his throat to constrict. "You look like hell."

"I could say the same for you," she retorted. There was no fire in it, simply a statement of fact.

"Funny thing actually, I haven't been sleeping. Not a wink. It's crazy right? I'm exhausted, I mean _exhausted_. That kind of tired where you actually start to see things that aren't there, you know what I mean? And yet, I lie down, close my eyes and," he shrugged ruefully, "nothing."

He crossed his arms and canted his head, studying her as she clung to the door frame. "_You_ look like you haven't slept since we got off the plane, or showered for that matter."

She hesitated, running a hand through limp and snarled curls. "You are right. I have not slept," she confessed. "The adjustment has been, well...more difficult than I imagined. Everything seems…too quiet."

"I know what you mean." They contemplated each other in silence for a moment. He was hoping she would pick up the ball because he really wasn't sure where to go next.

"So," he tried awkwardly, "you said you'd call." She looked a bit annoyed at that.

"When I was ready, yes."

Strike that; _really _annoyed.

She stepped away from the door and into the hall, hands fisting at her sides. "I have spent the last two days being questioned by every agency bureaucrat who wanted a piece of me. You have no idea what it is like to stand in a room full of men who want to know..," she shook her head in disgust, "who want _every_ detail."

She was humiliated and disgusted, but more important to him, she was _angry. _Angry was something.

"I have no home, no possessions. My assets and accounts are frozen in Israel because I was thought either a lost cause or given up for dead. I cannot sleep, I cannot eat, I am wearing _Abbey's_ pajamas, and to top it all off, I have _you_ knocking on my door at 3am searching for answers I do not have."

He noticed the skull and cross bone motif of her attire for the first time.

"Resolving things between us is important Tony," she continued more calmly, "but it has been far from my first priority."

He raised an eyebrow. "Are ya done?"

"I suppose that depends on you," she sighed.

"First, I didn't come here for answers, I came here for you."

She looked at him skeptically.

"Alright, I came here a little bit for me," he admitted. "Second, I like the PJ's, very assassin chic. Third…"

"There is a third?"

"Third," he continued, "I'm tired of staring at my ceiling, Ziva."

"What is on your ceiling?" she was clearly puzzled.

"Trust me, you _don't_ want to know. The point is, I don't care if I sleep on the couch, the floor, or right outside this door, but it's become painfully obvious that I'm _not _going to sleep anywhere else."

She seemed to be mulling over his words, weighing and measuring the sincerity of his statement and also what he _wasn't_ saying. "I will admit, I seem to feel…safe when I am with you, even if I am not entirely at ease with it. Still, I have no right…no right to ask you to stay for my comfort."

"Then let me stay for mine."

Pressing her lips together as she struggled with everything that letting him in would mean for both of them, she finally nodded slowly and led him inside without a word.

* * *

The room beyond her was awash in light. In fact, it seemed as if every single bulb available was fully ablaze.

His eyes fell immediately on a thin blanket and a single pillow lying on the floor just below the window and out of the direct line of the door. It was a position chosen for shelter, a position chosen out of fear.

The second thing he noticed was the pile of gauze, tape, and ointments on the small island that separated the kitchenette from the main living area.

Ziva followed his line of sight. She made no comment on her make-shift bed. "I was going to call Abbey in the morning to see if she would assist me with these. I am not looking forward to explaining certain things to her. I think that I will have to be...somewhat creative."

"Me? I've never really been able to lie to Abbey. Something about the pig tails and puppy dog eyes, I think." He hesitated a moment. "Ziva, can I help?" He gestured to her pile of supplies. The thought of looking once again on the nightmarish remnants of her captivity which lay beneath the thin layer of her clothing was far from pleasant but it was clear it wasn't something she could accomplish herself. At least he could save her the pain of yet another pair of eyes on her.

"I did not ask..," she began.

"No, I offered."

She nodded, slowly turning around and lifting the back of her t-shirt with trembling hands to reveal the gauze covered patches on her torso. "You must remove these first."

He could hear the uncertainty in her voice, knew she hated to be dependent on anyone. He took a deep breath and put his fingers to her skin. "Tell me if I hurt you." He began to gently peel back an edge of tape.

She looked at him over her shoulder. "It is not me I am worried about."

He tried to make light of it. "You think this is bad, you should try taking care of Gibbs after he's been shot. Talk about uncomfortable. At least you don't have back hair to contend with." He winced as he uncovered her marred flesh.

"Tony?" she asked quietly. "How does it look?"

He would never do her the injustice of lying to her about something so personal. "From what I can see, everything looks better than it did onboard ship. You're healing." Again, it wasn't a lie, just not the entire truth. "Does it hurt?" he asked, removing her final bandage.

She didn't answer right away and he was afraid he had said something wrong. When she finally spoke, her voice was flat, distant. "It did not take me long in the desert to learn that pain was something to be pushed outside of my body, that I did not have to feel it anymore." She turned slowly to face him.

A moment ago she had begun to resemble the woman he knew but the cold hard look in her eyes now chilled his heart. He reached out and slowly pushed the tangled mess of her hair away from her face. "Ziva, what did he do to you?" His voice was barely a whisper.

Her black eyes softened and she turned her head and pressed her lips lightly into his palm. "More than I will ever burden you with."

He looked down at her, respecting her enough not to turn away even though his chest tightened with a burning ache and his vision began to blur. No. His tears were not what she needed right now.

Clearing his throat, he reached for a tube of ointment and examined the label. "So, do I just put this on?" He held up the container.

"Not yet." She closed her hand around his and set the tube back on the counter, lifting her head and setting her jaw. Her eyes drifted to the one area of her room which remained dark, the bathroom. "I would like to see for myself."

His heart fell. "You mean you haven't?"

"I could not." She shook her head. "You must think me a coward."

He couldn't help the bitter laugh that escaped at her words. "Ziva, I've called you a lot of things, but I would _never _call you a coward."

* * *

Together they crossed the short distance to the darkened room. Ziva hesitated briefly at the threshold but eventually flipped on the angry overhead florescent light. He dug through the large basket of amenities that had been provided to her by the hotel and eventually found a small compact.

He obediently closed his eyes while Ziva removed her t-shirt, opening them only when she told him to. It wasn't like him to behave when there was a half-naked woman nearby but under the circumstances he found great reserves of restraint. She was facing him with her back to the large wall mirror, arms crossed to cover her breasts.

His involuntary grimace was brief and covered as well as he could but he suspected he had not hidden his reaction quickly enough. Her torso was covered in bruises, fading and yellowing to various degrees. He was sickened by the multiple series of small round marks on her breasts which could only be fingerprints. Her pajama bottoms sat low on her hips and he saw that she had matching contusions there as well. On her back, amidst a number of cuts which were mostly healed and beginning to scar, there were three partially open gashes which he suspected had come from a whip or knotted rope of some sort, maybe even a belt. One began just below her shoulder and extended diagonally toward her spine, the others lay across her lower back, just above the swelling of her hips. He took a deep breath and held up the compact. "Are you ready?"

"Not really, but I think I must be."

He positioned the tiny mirror so it reflected the larger one. The catch in her breathing told him he had gotten the angle right.

"Oh, Tony," his name was half plea, half sob.

She brought her hands up to cover her mouth, too in shock to care about her state of undress. He placed the mirror on the counter behind her and carefully enfolded her in his arms, mindful of her sensitive flesh. He rocked her gently as tears dampened his shirt.

When she had quieted, he rested his chin on the top of her head and spoke to her softly. "You _will _heal Ziva. Even the scars will fade in time."

"But there will always be scars. I will never truly be free of him." She brought her hand up to his chest and swiped at her eyes, drawing a shaky breath.

He grasped her arms and pushed her back so she could look up at him "Ziva David, you could have a jagged angry scar right here," he traced a line from her forehead to her cheekbone, "and you would still be one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen."

"Liar," she sniffed.

He drew an X over his heart. "Truth. Even if you had an eye patch." He swiped the tip of her nose with his index finger. "Actually, an eye patch might be kind of sexy. I should also probably remind you that your breasts are showing." He immediately made a good show of looking anywhere other than her chest. Surprisingly, sex was about the furthest thing from his mind at the moment.

Well, almost.

"Thank you Tony. I know it is not enough, but I cannot think of anyone else in the world that I would trust with this." Fresh tears glazed her eyes as she pulled a towel around herself.

Now that she had stumbled over this major hurdle he attempted to push her one step further. "You know, we _are_ in a bathroom, a place where bathing occurs." He jerked his head in the direction of the shower.

"I would like to wash, yes."

"You okay?"

She smiled sadly at him. "Not really, but I am okay enough for this."

"Then I'll leave you to it." He backed over the threshold, closing the door behind him and collapsing against its cool and reassuring solidity. Driving the heels of his hands into his eyes, he released the heaving silent sob that had been threatening to burst from his throat for the last 5 minutes.


	4. Chapter 4

**Phew, glad this part is over. This chapter pics up where the last left off, kind of establishing events that lead right into _Reunion._ This is my take on exactly why the serious eye sex was going on in that ep and what _isn't_ being said between the two of them. Again, it might help if you picture this as more of a missing scene. **

**I have one more chapter (which may get divided into 2 chapters due to length) coming which will be about how I believe the issues they are dealing with here and the establishing of a new intimacy between the two characters leads up to the obvious events of _Jet Lag. _So yes, essentially, all of this has been a lead up (or just an excuse) to me writing some hot and angsty smut. Let me just place this warning here in case you are not one for smut reading: The next chapter (chapters) will absolutely, positively, bring this fic up to the M rating I have given it so be prepared. **

**Thanks again for all who have R & R'd! You're awesome and I love the feedback!**

* * *

_And when I chose to live, there was no joy,_

_It's just a line I crossed._

_I was not worth the pain my death would cost,_

_So I was not lost of found._

_~ Dar Williams_

* * *

Ziva emerged from the shower looking clean but still exhausted. His own eyelids were getting heavier by the minute and he noticed that the line on the horizon beyond the window had lightened considerably.

When he had cleaned and re-dressed her wounds, there was an awkward moment as he brought up sleeping arrangements. She had clearly been attempting to sleep on the floor but there was a large and untouched bed in the next room that was calling his name.

"Tony, I am not sure that sharing a bed is the best idea."

"Wouldn't be the first time we've shared a bed, Ziva, not even close to the first time as I recall." He wasn't sure where the words came from and he winced as soon as they left his mouth. Bringing up this taboo topic probably wasn't the best way to make a point and he quickly switched tactics before she had a chance to react to his previous statement.

"Let me ask you this, if I sleep on the couch or the floor are you going to sleep in that bed?" he asked.

She thought about this for a minute, exhaustion and stubbornness warring for supremacy. "I do not think I will, no," she admitted finally.

"Then I'm going to go and crawl beneath that extremely soft looking comforter and collapse on those exceedingly fluffy pillows and when you decide where you want to sleep, you can let me know." He turned and walked into the bedroom, trusting his own instinct that she would follow and refusing to look over his shoulder.

He removed his shirt and laid it carefully over the chair beside the bed. After beginning to unfasten his jeans, he thought better of it, settling for loosening his belt and undoing his top button for comfort. Ziva had yet to make an appearance but he proceeded to climb beneath the covers with a low groan. There was something about high class hotel beds and their freshly bleached, high thread count sheets that relaxed him. Perhaps it was spending years virtually living in hotels as a child. For him, there was simply something familiar about an unfamiliar bed.

He switched off the light on the nightstand and propped himself partially up against the headboard.

It was a few moments before he had the sense that he was being watched. He opened his eyes to find her standing at the edge of the bed, knees pressed to the mattress and wringing her hands nervously. He flipped back the covers on the other side of the bed and patted the space beside him. "No knees, I promise."

She didn't look completely convinced but the corner of her mouth turned up almost imperceptibly at his reference.

"It isn't a sign of weakness to need someone, Ziva," he said soberly, "it's a sign of being human."

"And when did you become such an expert at needing people?"

"I've accepted certain facts about my life since you've been away," he said slowly, using her own words against her.

She opened her mouth to argue but closed it a moment later. With a resigned sigh she mounted the bed, moving in next to him despite ample room to spread out.

His chest tightened at her familiar scent and comforting weight as she slipped into the curve of his arm and rested her chin against his ribs.

There were things he had been unable to contemplate losing even when he had accepted the fact that she was most likely out of his life forever. The thought of never again experiencing their easy intimacy or the care they took of each other when they thought no one was watching had sent icy daggers shooting straight for his heart. He had pushed these thoughts from his mind, choosing instead to use the pain they brought as fuel for vengeance.

"I missed you so much," he sighed against her hair, tensing when he realized he had actually said the words out loud.

"McGee would not cuddle?" she asked, artfully avoiding a conversation she was obviously not ready to have.

"He drools. Besides, it got a little awkward when he cut off a lock of my chest hair and started wearing my underwear to work." He yawned, sleep tugging him hard toward unconsciousness.

She was quiet beside him and he thought for a moment she had alreazdy fallen asleep.

"I missed you too, Tony," she murmured against his chest as he left the waking world behind.

* * *

It was the shifting of Ziva's weight as she bolted upright in bed that woke him from the soundest sleep he could remember getting anytime recently.

At first he wasn't sure what had woken her but then he heard a muffled repetitive knocking from the main room. Someone was being very persistent about getting her to answer the door.

Ziva was a coiled spring next to him. Her eyes were wide and dilated, her breathing shallow as adrenaline flooded her system. Muscles bunched and quivered beneath his fingers as he ran a soothing hand down her arm.

"You expecting company?" he asked.

She shook her head, slowly relaxing as she realized there was no need for panic.

He slid from beneath the covers and grabbed his shirt from the chair, pulling it quickly over his shoulders. "Stay here, I'll check it out."

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he stepped into the larger room and dodged around the furniture as best he could. He lifted the light-cancelling curtains from the window and glanced outside. It was either mid morning or mid afternoon judging by the light outside. Either way, he hadn't had nearly enough sleep yet and neither had Ziva.

Whoever was in the hall continued their persistence. He slid back the chain and pulled open the door to reveal a not so chipper looking Abbey, her fist raised to pound again. He blinked at the brightness of the hallway and shielded his eyes.

Her eyes widened in surprise, mouth opening in a silent "O" before she found her voice. "Tony, what are you..?" Her eyes trailed down his bare chest to the undone belt at his waist.

He could see the wheels in her head turning as she mentally misinterpreted the reason for his presence in Ziva's room and he flinched as her eyes narrowed in anger.

They call it a sucker punch for a reason. He didn't even have time to register the lowering of Abbey's fist before it connected with his gut.

"Anthony Dinozzo! How could you? I have never been more disappointed in anyone in my entire life. Ziva is damaged and vulnerable and you take advantage of her? I mean, I know she hurt you but that is no excuse, NO excuse, for something like this."

"I didn't take advantage of her Abbs," he groaned, trying to catch his breath.

She paused in her tirade, trying to determine if he was being truthful or just trying not to get punched again. "You didn't?" she asked. "But you're here and your hair is all sex-messy and your shirt…" She pointed at his bare skin for emphasis.

"We were just sleeping, honestly Abbs, nothing else even crossed my mind." He held his hand to his stomach, taking slow deep breaths. Abbey had a mean uppercut.

"Pinky swear?" She held up one tiny digit.

"Pinky swear." He hooked his finger with hers.

Her eyes narrowed again. "Why?"

He straightened painfully and met her open stare, silently begging her to understand what he could not put into words. There was no hiding from Abbey.

Her tackle hug sent him flying backwards through the doorway and nearly knocked him off his feet. "I take back every bad thing I have ever said about you, Tony. Alright, maybe not every bad thing, because let's face it, you've done your share of stupid, but at least I take back those things I've said in the last 5 minutes."

"Apology accepted," he wheezed.

When he finally pried her arms from around his neck and could breathe again, he glanced toward the bedroom. Ziva had failed to make an appearance despite Abbey's exuberant greeting and he suspected she was avoiding rather than sleeping.

"What are you doing here Abbs?"

She held up a bag. "I brought her some more clothes. I had to dig thorough almost everything I own to find something even remotely Ziva-esque. I was going to ask her if she would let me take her shopping."

"I'll pass on the invitation. She's had a rough couple of days."

They walked toward the door. Abbey turned at the threshold. "Tony, has she..."

"Apologized?" he finished. "Not yet, but we've both sort of had…other priorities. I think she's working on it. So am I."

"No matter what she went through Tony, she was wrong and she needs to say it. If she can't then she doesn't deserve you," she stated matter-of-factly.

"Abbey," he said firmly, a thought occurring to him. "No one else needs to know that I was here, and by 'no one' I mean 'no one and most especially not Gibbs'."

"I don't know what you mean. I got to the hotel, knocked on the door, but no one answered. Ziva must have been sleeping so I just left the clothes by the door." she smiled.

"Thanks, Abbs." He kissed her cheek and shut the door quietly.

When he made it back to the bedroom after a quick stop at the head, he found Ziva curled on her side beneath the blankets, eyes open and regarding him wearily.

"Hey, you alright?" he sat on the bed next to her.

"This is not fair to you Tony."

He didn't have to ask what she meant. It was obvious she had overheard his conversation with Abbey. "Just try and pretend I'm using this as an excuse to get in your bed," he quipped.

She didn't smile at his attempt to lighten the air.

"Let me decide what's fair to me," he answered seriously. He moved around the bed once again, removing his belt and shirt and sliding in next to her, wary of her current mood and keeping a reasonable distance.

Ziva remained on her side, facing away from him. He sank back into the pillows and waited for his mind to quiet and sleep to return.

"Tony, can I ask you something?" she asked quietly, her voice a near whisper in the silence that blanketed the space between them.

"Shoot."

"When we were with Salim and I asked why you had come if you thought I was dead..." she began.

"Ahh," he sighed, "I was wondering when you would get around to bringing that up. Please try to remember that I was heavily drugged and I may have said some things that...My memory is still a little...fuzzy around the edges."

"You said that you could not live without me,"she said bluntly.

"Oh, _that..._well, that was...that was just..," he fumbled.

"Tell me the truth now, in this bed. No drugs, no Salim, no NCIS, just us. I think you owe me that much."

He squirmed slightly, chest tightening as he tried to find a way out of the awkward situation he had created for himself. In the end, he decided that she was right. The truth was something he did owe her. "I think it would be more accurate to say that, at the time, I _didn't_ want to live without you."

"Is that really so different?"

"No, I suppose it isn't."

"Thank you, Tony."

"For what?"

"For being honest with me." She didn't say any more.

He was just on the edge of drifting off when she shifted beside him and rolled into the space beneath his arm he had left open for her. Her hair tickled his chest as he once again became her pillow.

"If you ever tell anyone about this Tony, I will kill you in a very slow and unpleasant way," she mumbled.

He smiled quietly into the semi darkness. "Never, little ninja."

* * *

"You could not possibly understand," she argued, turning away in anger.

"What I don't understand is how you even have to think for a split second about this decision," he snapped.

"And I do not understand how you can simply turn around and pretend that things are not different for me now, that they are not different for _us."_

They had spent 72 hours in the same pattern. During waking hours he disappeared, leaving her to her own thoughts or whatever agency got to have a go at her that day. He went home, ran until he thought his heart would beat out of his chest and then he ran some more. More than once he found that his feet had taken him within blocks of Gibbs's house without a conscious effort.

He started the conversation with his boss a thousand times in his head but he always hit the same wall. He wasn't afraid Gibbs wouldn't understand, he was petrified that his words of advice would echo the ones that had been floating around his head for the last two days, 'leave her alone.'

He wanted to, oh _God _he wanted to, but every night he found himself standing in front of her door and every night she smiled sadly at him and reluctantly admitted him inside. They spent more and more time circling the edges of conversations neither of them wanted to start, more and more time staring blankly at the ceiling in the dark trying to find the words.

It was time.

The team returned to active duty at NCIS tomorrow and it was time for her to decide whether that team was going to include her. Oh sure, they had been assigned an agent to replace Ziva, but she was merely a technicality, a minor annoyance to be dealt with now that the first string was back in play.

"I do not even know that I can come back to NCIS. I am no longer Mossad, at least I do not consider myself to be." She sighed, "Ziva David of Mossad was abandoned by her people, by her country, by her _family._ I do not yet know who it was you brought back from the desert, Tony, but I know that much of who I was lies buried deep beneath those sands. What could I possibly have to give NCIS now?"

"You have your _life_ Ziva, and a remarkable and unique skill set that has saved far more lives than it has taken. You have a family, the most important _kind_ of family. You have a family who _chooses_ you, who would give their _lives _to save the one you seem so determined to cast aside. You have a family who loves you, Ziva, however dysfunctional they may be at times."

"It is not that simple, Tony, believe me, I wish it was."

"So you can really just walk away so easily?" his voice rose again.

"I went there to die, Tony, do you understand that? I went there to die because I could not face the life I had chosen. I did not want you to come for me, I did not want _anyone_ to come for me." She met him blow for blow.

"Well that's just too goddamn bad. There are some things you don't get to choose. You didn't choose your father, Ziva. He raised you to be the perfect agent assassin but there was always something more there, I saw it from the very beginning, so did Gibbs. I think you saw it too, but instead of accepting who you were and where you belong, you just seemed so determined to fight a war with yourself. Well, now I'm asking you to fight a different battle, Ziva. You may have gone to Salim to die but you didn't and now, _NOW, _you have a choice. I can't stand by and watch you throw that away."

"It is not your decision to make, Tony," she spat at him.

She was angry and she was irrational but at least this time she wasn't pressing a gun to his chest. Maybe this was what she needed but it sure hurt like hell to give it to her.

"We need you, Ziva. Your team needs you. _I _need you. It's time for you to decide once and for all who your real family is. If you can't look inside and see what really matters, I can't be a part of it." He turned for the door.

"I'll let you know when I decide," she said icily.

"You do that." He slammed the door behind him, collapsing immediately against the wall with a hand to his gut. Waiting until he was safely in the elevator, he slammed his fist into the polished aluminum door with a fierce howl, smiling in relief as pain flowed up his arm and into his shoulder. He desperately hoped he had done the right thing by pushing her away but only time would tell.

* * *

**Annnd roll _Reunion._ From here I'll let the first several eps of S7 stand as is and then roll you into Jet Lag with the next chapter!**

**Thanks again for the kind reviews!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Fast forward from the end of the last chapter to events just preceeding _Jet_**_ Lag._

**I think I have made a mistake here, dear readers. As I begin to write these chapters, I feel like I should really have made these next few into their own sequel fic. The tone is very different but again, the tone in that episode is very different from _T&C_ and _Reunion_. The events in previous chapters needed to happen to get us to this point but when all is said and done, I may go back and separate these into two fics. Will continue to post as all one now since these last chapters really do stem from the earlier story events. **

**This assumes, of course, that anyone is still reading this drivel ;)**

**I had a lot of fun writing this chapter and hopefully you get a laugh of two out of it. I am taking this from many of the things said in _Jet Lag_. **

**Posts _should_ be fast.**

**P.S. If you like _Lie To Me,_ just sub in "soup" for the conversation below.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own it.**

* * *

Ziva was in an even fouler mood than usual. In fact, for the last two weeks her shoulders seemed to have been climbing a little higher every day. He chalked it up to the stress of re-acclimating to the team, to NCIS, and to a new life in general. She was attempting to settle into a new apartment and rebuild a life she had thought gone forever while at the same time accepting everything she had lost. So what if she snapped at least one pencil in half before lunch every day? Surely a little tension was to be expected.

Today, however, she seemed to have taken hostility to a new level. Her snappish behavior at their airport shuttle driver had nearly resulted in them being left on the side of the Beltway. An excessively long rant in animated Hebrew at a hapless airline ticket agent who had made the mistake of not giving her an aisle seat had made the poor girl dissolve in tears. If he hadn't flashed his badge and quickly made up a story about a cheating boyfriend, they would have found themselves on a _boat_ for Paris.

Now, as he awkwardly hoisted her carry-on into the overhead compartment, she turned her ire on him.

"Really, Tony, are you _trying _to damage every item in my suitcase or is that just an added bonus to your services?" she clucked.

He shot her an icy stare and continued to struggle with the bin.

"You are not inserting it correctly. Any idiot could see you must turn it on its side in order for it to fit properly." She tried to reach past him.

"Okay, that is _it,_" he snapped. "I don't know exactly what bug has crawled up your butt lately, but as your friend and your partner I gotta tell ya, you have been a _real _pain in the ass. Now, I'm not your porter and I am certainly not your bitch, but I am going to get this suitcase in here and I would appreciate it if you would just sit down and _shut up_ while I do it."

She stared at him wide eyed, mouth working to form some sort of retort.

"Sit," he said firmly, nodding in the direction of their seats.

He saw the change come over her face almost instantly. Her anger seemed to melt away and be replaced by something that looked like a heady combination of guilt and frustration.

When he had secured the latch on the overhead bin, he slipped past her into the window seat. The bulkhead just behind them afforded slightly more room as well as more privacy. He waited as the rest of the passengers took their seats and the plane pulled away from the terminal. Once the engines had propelled the 400,000 lbs of steel and aluminum his ass was currently riding into the air, he turned to Ziva and started the inquisition.

"So, you want to talk about it?" he began, forcing himself to be gentle.

"There is nothing to discuss. You are right, my rigidity has been…uncalled for. I will try to be less of a _'pain in the ass'_ for the rest of our assignment."

"Do you really think you're going to get off that easy? This is me we're talking about, and _Paris._ How can you be anything other than completely psyched for this trip? We are officially off duty until 3pm tomorrow afternoon and I don't intend to waste one second once we get off this plane. By my watch, that leaves me exactly," he held up his wrist, "six hours and 42 minutes to hassle my seat mate until she breaks down and tells me what's really got her panties in a bunch."

"I am not wearing panties."

He blinked. "You're not...really?" He shook his head to clear the mental image. "That's not the point, it's an expression. Listen, we can do this the easy way or we can do this the hard way. The easy way is, you relax back into that seat, visualize a casual evening stroll along the Seine, and spill your guts. The hard way…well, I haven't thought of a hard way yet but trust me, I can be very persistent."

"Mmm, yes, I know. Like a small mosquito buzzing in my ear. I often want to smack my own head just to get you to shut up."

"Okay, also not the point, but _thanks,_" he said sarcastically.

"It is rather personal, Tony. I did not think it appropriate to discuss with you, or anyone else for that matter." She stared past him at the endless blue beyond the window.

He knew the look in her eyes, that haunted expression that had been almost wholly absent since the real events that had taken place aboard the Damocles had been revealed for good and ill. Sometimes, when she thought she was alone, her cheeks grew pale and her eyes took on a faraway look, as if she was reliving something from a very different time and place. She did an amazing job of holding up her mask most of the time but she could never completely hide from him. Sometimes he even got the feeling that she wanted to let him in on those moments of doubt, those moments when she was afraid to be alone with her thoughts.

"You're not having nightmares again?" he prodded.

She smiled at his concern and placed her hand over his. "I do not think that I will ever be completely free of nightmares, Tony, but they are much better now. I would tell you if they were not."

"Then what?" he pressed.

She looked around. The seat directly across from them was empty but there was a mother and her 7 or 8 year old son directly in front of them. She pitched her voice low, for his ears only. "I have been experiencing some frustration…of a _personal nature."_

It took a few minutes but finally the light came on and he shifted uncomfortably. "Oh! _Ohhhh. _I see. Well, that's…that's," he cleared his throat, searching for a response. He felt heat rush to his face and he pulled at his tie, trying desperately to loosen it. "I'm sorry, did it just get hot in here?"

She rolled her eyes. "Forget it. I knew you could not handle this."

He took a deep breath. "No. No, I can handle it. You just sort of…caught me by surprise."

Eyeing him warily, she continued. "When I first came back, you know that I had…injuries which needed to heal."

He nodded, swallowing the anger that always flared when she mentioned what Saleem had inflicted on her.

"Honestly, I could not even think of..." She glanced at the seats in front of them where there were no doubt nosey ears and searched for a way to say what she could not _really_ say.

"Cookies?" Tony suggested, reading her hesitation at the same time as he caught sight of the beverage and snack cart starting down the aisle on the opposite side of the plane.

She took his meaning and ran with it, relaxing somewhat. "Yes. The thought of having _cookies_ with anyone ever again was just…" She shook her head. "A few weeks ago, my doctor told me that it was physically okay if I wanted to but that I should wait until I felt I was…emotionally ready."

"For cookies," he finished.

"Yes, well, in the last week I have found myself thinking about cookies more and more often. As you know, I was always a woman who enjoyed having cookies quite regularly."

She looked at him from beneath her lashes and he squirmed under her knowing gaze. "Yes, well…I always thought we made very good cookies together."

"I have always remembered our cookies very fondly as well, Tony." She smiled the warmest smile he had seen from her in months before her face became serious again. "The problem is, I am afraid that after everything…after all he..." She couldn't finish.

"You're afraid you won't be able to have cookies with anyone again without thinking of it." It wasn't a question.

She nodded.

"But you want to try?" He asked cautiously.

She sighed in frustration. "I have tried finding other outlets, exercise, yoga, extra trips to the gun range. I have even attempted…knitting. Still, I feel this…this restless energy buzzing around inside of me for which I can find no release."

He laughed despite himself. "You're horny," he cackled, the words coming out much louder than he intended. "_Hungry_," he corrected, glancing around to see if anyone had noticed, "you're hungry."

She shot him a dirty look. "I suppose you could say that I am hungry, yes. But it is more than that."

"Have you tried having cookies, you know, by yourself?" He held up two fingers suggestively.

She blushed slightly and placed her hand over his to lower his fingers. "I have," she said quietly.

"And?" His voice cracked slightly and he tried to think of something other than the beautiful woman in the seat next to him, the woman he had seen naked and lost in the throes of passion more than once, touching herself erotically.

Her face took on the tight look he had seen more often of late. "No matter what I do, I get close to the cookies, so close I can almost taste them but I do not seem to be able to _reach_ the cookies," she confessed. "The therapist I am seeing says it probably just means that I am not _mentally_ ready for cookies yet but, Tony, what if I am never ready?"

"Maybe you just need time." He wanted to be reassuring but in truth he really had no idea what the best course of action was.

"Ugh!" she scoffed. "I am tired of everyone in my life saying all I need is time. Will time really make this fade? It is a vicious circle, Tony. The more time I give myself, the longer I go without facing the thing I am afraid of, the more I worry that I will _never_ feel normal again, and the more afraid I am to even try. I feel as though I am simply _wasting _time on some ridiculous idea of a life that is all work and no…_cookies!_"

Her voice had risen and he was certain that they were drawing stares from other passengers.

"I am beginning to think I should just rip it off, like a bandage, get the pain over quickly and see what lies beneath. I have not tried to pick up a man in a bar for a very long time, but in my experience there is no shortage of hopeful fools just waiting to take a woman home for some quick cookies at the end of the night." She sighed disconsolately, sinking back into her seat.

"Do you really think that's the best idea? A perfect stranger? What if you go all ninja on him mid coitus? I'm not trying to make this worse but really, the poor guy might not stand a chance if that switch gets flipped."

"Then what would you suggest Very Special Agent not-helping-at-all?" she snapped.

"I don't know. Don't you have anyone from your past, someone who's _not_ a deranged terrorist perhaps, you might trust?" As soon as the words had left his mouth he wished he could take them back. It certainly sounded as if he was implying something he had definitely not intended to imply.

She looked slightly taken aback, but even more frightening, she looked like she was _thinking_ about it. "Tony, you're not suggesting that you and I…that we..?"

"NO! Noooo…Not suggesting, not at all, not one little bit, noooo. That would be very very…very bad in so so many ways." He shook his head emphatically, wondering exactly which one of them he was trying to convince.

"Tony," she said softly.

"We can't, Ziva. I can't."

"No," she agreed, "you are right. It would be wrong. So very…very wrong." She bit her lower lip.

"Don't." He admonished.

"What?" she tried innocently.

"Don't use that voice on me. That voice is exactly what got us in trouble four years ago."

"Oh, I do not think it was my voice that got us in trouble," she purred.

"Stop," he said seriously. "Ziva, this isn't four years ago and we both know it."

Her face fell and he softly stroked her cheek with the knuckles of one long fingered hand.

"I'm not the guy who can screw his partner without thinking about the consequences anymore. I'm sorry, there has to be another way."

"Of course you are right," she agreed, staring down at the armrest between them. "It would be too…"

"Complicated," they said in unison.

She met his eyes and he could feel the new tension between them bubbling just beneath the surface. He opened his mouth to say something but thought better of it. Instead, he pulled back and reclined his seat. "I'm just going to, you know, relax…for the rest of the flight. Lots to do when we get there. Find the hotel, see the sites, Notre Dame, the Champs Elysee. Ahh Paris," he sighed, opening one eye to see that she too had relaxed back in her seat.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, surrounded by the noise of other passengers and the keening whine of the plane's engines.

"Stop thinking about it," Ziva whispered.

"_You_ stop thinking about it," he admonished.

"We will _both_ stop thinking about it," she countered.

He was never going to be able to stop thinking about it.

* * *

**More to come very quickly. I don't think I have ever written something so dialogue heavy before!**

**I would really like to hear your opinions on whether I should leave this as a whole or break it up.**

**Thanks for reading!**


	6. Chapter 6

**_Have I mentioned how awesome you all are? Thanks again for the kind words. _**

**_If anyone here had a doubt that I was really gonna get to the M stuff, let me put an end to your fears with this chapter. You may need a cold shower. So kiddies, if you're not supposed to be reading stuff like this, it's time to go re-read the other chapters or something much less..adult. _**

**_It's not going to get tamer from here but I hope that I have handled this in a way that seems true to the NCIS verse, and the overall tenderness of this fic. I certainly think it will fit right in when all is said and done._**

**_The next update will be a little longer in coming as I will be away for the next several days. Have heart, this little Tiva fest will continue. You'll just have to read this one again and again and again._**

**_Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS but y'all are going to wish I did once you read this. Of course, it would have to be on cable._**

* * *

_I may be able to understand the secrets of the universe but…_

_I'll never understand the truth about you._

_Never._

Marlon Brando, _Last Tango in Paris_

* * *

The sights of Paris flew by them as they were whisked toward their hotel amidst a flurry of afternoon traffic. Tony craned his neck upward, face pressed to the glass in the back of the cab as they made their way down avenues lined with trees and great constructs of stone and glass.

Ziva sat sedately beside him, watching his childlike enthusiasm with an amused half-smile. He thought she looked very like the portrait of the Mona Lisa with her dark hair and eyes, hands folded in her lap, and the barest hint of a knowing gleam in her eye.

She was making him extremely uncomfortable. The tension between them had not eased since disembarking at Charles De Gaulle and more than once now he had caught her regarding him with a disturbingly speculative glance as if she were mentally weighing and measuring every piece of him, inside and out.

They pulled up beneath the portico of an older looking hotel. Stepping from the cab, he drew a deep breath of Parisian air into his lungs which, unfortunately, turned out to be heavily laden with exhaust fumes. With a sputtering cough, he retrieved the bags from the trunk while Ziva handled the driver. As the car pulled away, he found her gazing toward the skyline of the great city, its glittering domes and their backdrop of towering high rises creating a resplendent visual dichotomy. She looked almost peaceful for once.

"It has been many years since I was last here. It _is_ rather breathtaking," she admitted.

"You're rather breathtaking," he said sincerely, unsure where the sudden sentiment had come from.

"Compliments, Agent Dinozzo?" she teased, covering the fact that she was quite taken aback by his frank appraisal of her. "Has Paris gotten to you already?"

"Must be the air," he coughed again. "Shall we?" he asked, handing her her bag and holding open the door.

Together they left the bustling streets of Paris behind and entered into a hotel lobby which immediately made him feel as though he had stepped back at least a century in time. Rich woods and polished marbles, heavy wall hangings and ornately carved furnishings lent the hotel a classic feel.

Stepping up to the reception desk, he let Ziva do the talking, which she did in perfect French. He secretly loved it when she spoke French, or any other language for that matter. Some day he would admit to her his admiration for her skills in linguistics.

He peered around the lobby at businessmen sipping scotch and women descending the broad staircase from the second floor, their arms laden with shopping bags. Lost in the seamless melding of timeless beauty and modern convenience, he was barely paying attention when Ziva presented their names to the registrar. He was abruptly pulled from his pleasant musings, however, as her voice rose and took on an unmistakably peevish tone which he was all too familiar with.

"What's the problem?" he interrupted.

"There is a mix up with the room arrangements. Apparently only one room was booked and there are no other vacancies," she growled.

"You have _got _to be _kidding _me," he whined.

"What would you like me to tell him?"

He sighed. "It's fine, I'll sleep on the couch. It's just one night."

"And I will have to listen to you complain all day tomorrow?" she snorted. "I will take the couch."

"Fine. Anyway, all I really need is a place to shower and drop my bags. Paris awaits us, Probationary Agent David," he said wistfully.

"Indeed," she said, collecting their keys. After a last look at the lobby, they went in search of the elevator which, thankfully, was much more modern than the rest of the hotel.

Their room was generously appointed with a sizable bed as its focal point and a large window overlooking the cityscape including a fabulous view of the Eiffel tower. Two high backed chairs framed an antique looking writing table but there was a larger desk in the corner which would provide adequate workspace should it become necessary. The bathroom had a more contemporary feel with twin sinks set into gleaming white marble and a walk-in shower complete with a glass block bench. As far as Tony could see, there was only one thing missing: A couch.

He froze in the center of the room and dropped his bags. "Don't say it," he warned, knowing that Ziva had, no doubt, noticed the same thing by now.

"Perhaps Paris is trying to tell us something, Tony," she said quietly.

"What part of 'don't say it' was unclear to you?" he chastised lightly, silently cursing fate or karma or whatever was currently shoving irresistible temptation his way. He only had so much fight in him.

"I will sleep on the floor," she offered half-heartedly. It was more of a question than anything.

He turned and regarded her in the soft light streaming in through the window. "No. You won't."

"Tony, I..," she began.

He raked a hand through his hair. "Are we really thinking about this or is this one of those situations where I'm thinking it and you're thinking it and we spend the whole night thinking about it but never actually _do_ anything about it?" he asked slowly, addressing the elephant in the room directly. Better to get the subject out of the way now than to dance around it for the rest of their evening. Of course, he did enjoy their dance, they had become experts at it over the years.

She shook her head in frustration. "Honestly, I do not know. On one hand we are both adults, and this would not be the first time Paris has gotten the better of two people's reservations and inhibitions."

He knew she was talking about Gibbs. Did their boss's indiscretion in a similar situation really warrant their own or was it only a mistake to be learned from? He had dared to ask Jenny once, when they had been close, if she had the chance to go back to the beginning with Gibbs and start over, would she do it? She had dismissed his question as crossing a line Gibbs wouldn't approve of her crossing and he had respectfully let it lie, but not before he saw the answer written in her eyes. And they were certainly not Gibbs and Jenny, regardless of the similar circumstances. They would make their own choice and have to live with their own unique set of consequences, whatever those may be.

"On the other hand, we are partners," she continued.

"And friends," he added.

"Friends who have been lovers before," she reminded him.

He stepped closer to her. There was less than a foot between them now and the close proximity forced her to turn her head up to look him in the eye. "Sex, Ziva. We've had sex before. We stopped having sex so we could _avoid_ becoming lovers, as I recall. " His voice was little more than a whisper.

"That is merely semantics, Tony."

He reached out and swept his fingers across her hairline, smoothing back the stray tendrils that had escaped her severe pony tail. "I used to think so too, but no. It really isn't." His thumb traced the outline of her cheek and she leaned into his palm, bringing her hand up to cover his and hold him in place for a moment.

"You should see the city before it is dark," she said quietly, breaking the contact between them and stepping back.

"There's time. I've heard Paris is beautiful at night." He regarded her quizzically, trying to read her thoughts.

She nodded. "I would like to shower and change before we go. Unlike you, I have been here many times. I think I can take you to some places you will enjoy very much."

"My own personal tour guide? How can I say no?" He was still uncertain where her head was at but he would let her take the lead.

She disappeared into the bathroom with her bag and it wasn't long before he heard the shower begin to run. Collapsing into one of the chairs by the window, he closed his eyes and began listing all the ways Gibbs would find to torture him if he ever found out he was even _thinking_ about doing what, he was pretty certain, he was going to be doing in this room tonight. There was Ziva's career to think about as well. She was still a Probationary Agent and, while there were no hard and fast rules about involvement with Senior Agents, the behavior was highly frowned upon, particularly among one's own team. He did not want to give Vance a reason to let her go.

On the other hand, they were in Paris and there was no one here to know. They had managed to hide their involvement four years ago for months without arousing suspicion and kept it a close secret ever since. He was pretty sure Abbey knew and he thought Gibbs might suspect, but they had been careful never to give either a reason to look too deeply at the issue. How hard could it be to hide one night?

He thought back to the moment, not so many months before, when a sharp twisting pain in his gut made him finally realize that he valued the life of his partner above his own. The life of the partner who, at that time, despised him, who infuriated him, who utterly captivated him, and who had hit closer to the truth than she would ever know about his jealousy of her boyfriend, even if she _had_ been wrong about his motivations. Surely he could give her this one thing if it was really what she thought she needed. If she trusted him to be the one to make her feel pleasure instead of pain, to try to give her back this part of herself.

A memory formed in his mind of a naked and laughing Ziva, hair tousled and messy, face flushed with arousal, rolling playfully beneath the sheets of his bed. He refused to believe that that carefree and wanton creature had vanished forever.

As if on cue, the bathroom door opened and Ziva emerged in a cloud of steam. She wore a white satin robe, belted at the waist, which fell to mid thigh. Her towel dried hair hung in damp ringlets around her shoulders and her freshly washed face glowed from the steam and hot water.

She caught his eye from across the room and it was easy to see that she read his thoughts almost immediately. Leaning against the doorframe between the rooms, she hesitated, clinging to the dark wood as if unsure she truly wanted to cross the threshold. Agonizing minutes ticked by as they contemplated each other in silence, each weighing the risks and consequences of her first step across the emptiness that filled the space between them.

"You're stunning," he said quietly. He didn't need to speak loudly for his voice to carry across the room to her. "I don't think I've ever told you that."

On anyone else he would have called the look she gave him one of shyness and uncertainty. The Ziva David he knew had never been shy _or_ uncertain. Hesitant no longer, she pushed herself away from the door and crossed the space between them with calm reserve, eyes locked to his.

When she stopped directly in front of him, her thighs pressed against the inside of his knees, he was forced tilt his chin toward her.

Her hands reached out to cradle his face in her palms, fingers slipping into his hair as she pulled him against her.

Hunching his shoulders, he rested his head below her breasts, wrapping his arms around her as she leaned into the intimate embrace. "Are you sure this is what you want?" he murmured against her belly.

There was no answer, only the curling of her fingers against his scalp. He pressed his lips against the soft fabric covering her skin, dampened it with a slow open mouthed kiss.

She pulled back from him and for a moment he thought she had changed her mind. When he looked up, her hands were at her waist, trembling uncertainly at the closure of her robe.

"This is only about you," he assured her, placing his hand over hers to still her movements. "You say stop and I take a very long and very cold shower, got it? It ends when you say it does, no questions."

"Also," he added, "if you feel like you're gonna hit me, could you at least avoid the face?"

It was the right thing to say. She smiled, her tension obviously easing slightly. "I will do my very best," she promised. She tugged at the ties and her robe fell open, revealing a line of smooth skin from her neck to the apex of her thighs where tight trimmed curls marked her sex.

The scent of her filled his nose, a gentle mingling of vanilla and light spicy musk with other notes that were uniquely hers. Heat rushed through him and he swelled against the confining fabric of his jeans. He watched her face as he lifted his arms and pushed the edges of the robe back around her breasts. Momentarily haunted by the image of her bruise-mottled body, he was happy to see that no traces of discoloration now remained. His fingers grazed her bronze skin, coasted down the edge of her breast and swept across one pink and puckered nipple. She sucked in a breath at the contact, humming gently as he moved back to circle the sensitive flesh with the broad pad of his thumb.

His hand slipped beneath her robe to the small of her back and he pulled her closer, placing his mouth against her sternum and tracing the valley there with the tip of his tongue. Her shallow breathing and sharp gasps urged him on and he marveled at her body's eager response to him. His lips toyed with the swollen bud of her breast and she twined her fingers against the back of his neck, pulling him tight against her. His flicking tongue made her quiver again and again. Opening his mouth to suckle her tenderly, he coaxed out a low and gentle moan that made his cock ache.

He let his hand wander down to the inside of her thigh, testing her limits. She tensed immediately and he withdrew without pushing further.

Instead, he slipped his knee between hers and urged her to lower herself onto his thigh, pressing the edge of her robe beneath her so it covered his jeans. Slowly, she came down to meet him, gasping as swollen and sensitized flesh met soft fabric and hard muscle.

He brushed the hair back from her face as she rocked lightly against him, testing the new friction. "Okay?" he asked.

She nodded. "I am fine," she said breathlessly, shuddering slightly as she circled her hips.

The last rays of warm golden light caught her as she turned her face up to him and for a moment he was too stunned to breathe. Her half open mouth, wild hair, and lust glazed eyes made his heart slam against his ribs and it took almost everything he had to fight the instinct to lower his zipper and pull her onto him.

Leaning in, he placed his mouth to hers, fingers sliding along the line of her jaw to caress the sensitive places on her neck and throat that he remembered well. She swallowed his deep groan as she opened to him, tongue slipping out to meet his in the link between their bodies.

Fuck she was amazing. He tried to think again of how he had ever found the will power to walk away from her bed.

Of course, it had never been like this between them four years ago. Their fire and passion was all on the surface then, a white hot flame born out of natural chemistry and lust that was quickly and quietly extinguished before it got out of control.

He burned for her now, burned with a steady heat that spread to every limb and filled parts of him he hadn't even known were empty until this moment.

The rhythmic movements of her hips increased and she deepened their kiss, velvet tongue caressing his in time with the arcs of her body. As she whimpered softly into his open mouth, it was not lost on him for one moment that an incredibly beautiful woman was currently getting off against his thigh in a Paris hotel room. Her arousal had dampened the fabric of his jeans and he could feel the moist heat of her against his leg.

His cock throbbed and twitched with each stroke of her tongue, each circle of her hips, but his own needs became secondary as she desperately strove for release against him.

She pulled back to catch her breath and rested her damp forehead against his, clearly frustrated. She was close but it was obvious she needed something more to throw her over the edge. He gently pulled one of her arms from around his shoulders. "Ready to move?" he whispered.

Emerging from her passionate haze long enough to focus on his words, she followed his gaze toward the bed and nodded, attempting to stand on shaky legs. Before she could completely disengage from him, he slipped an arm beneath her knees and lifted her as he stood, grunting harshly as his erection rubbed against his zipper uncomfortably.

"I _can_ walk, Tony," she argued, assuming his pain was due to her weight in his arms.

"It's not you," he said, "at least not directly. Besides, men like carrying women, it makes us feel useful." He deposited her on the edge of the bed, thinking briefly about the last time he had lifted her into his arms, aboard a Navy helicopter half a world away, her body limp and seemingly lifeless as he held her tightly to his chest. As she moved back on the bed and let the robe slip from her shoulders, that moment seemed like a lifetime ago.

He quickly stripped off his shirt and watched as her eyes darted to his waist, clearly nervous about what would logically come next. Christ, it was like being with a virgin, except that she wasn't a virgin. She was a woman who knew her own body and how to take pleasure from it, she only needed to be reminded that this most basic of human needs was not something to be feared, that one sadistic bastard could not rob her of this for the rest of her life.

Changing tactics, he kicked off his shoes, removed his socks and belt, and climbed onto the bed beside her, encouraging her to roll onto her side. She seemed confused by the fact that he was still partly clothed but she turned for him without argument.

The light in the room was fading but he could still clearly see the roadmap of fading scars across her back. He had no time for rage so he swallowed it down and lined his body up against hers. She tensed up when she felt the hard length of his erection against her hip, but he held her until she relaxed again. "It's me," he whispered beside her ear, "only me."

Leaning back slightly, he pulled her so that she lay partially on top of him. He placed a hand beneath her knee and lifted, draping her leg over his thigh and planting her foot on the bed so that she was open to him.

He inserted two of his fingers in his mouth to moisten them and then placed her hand on his wrist. "You're in control, okay?" he reassured her as her fingers encircled him. "Show me," he instructed.

Following the pressure of her fingers on his wrist, he slipped his hand between her thighs. He groaned involuntarily as his fingertips made contact with slick and swollen flesh and she shuddered as he grazed her clit. Her fingers slid further down the back of his hand, digging in, begging him press harder. It was clear he had found the right position when she bucked her hips against his palm with a drawn out moan. He circled the heel of his hand against her clit, mimicking the pressure of his thigh that she had clearly enjoyed a moment ago.

He opened his mouth against the space at the joining of her neck and shoulder, dragging the flat of his tongue and his bottom lip across her flesh. She began to move her hips in a familiar rhythm, and he drew a shaky hissing breath as she ground against his erection.

She stiffened when he slipped the curled end of one long finger inside of her but he held still and waited for her to adjust to him. Finally, she lifted her hips to press him deeper and began to move again, wet heat slipping against his hand.

Supporting her, rocking his hips in rhythm with hers as her pace quickened, he could easily feel her climbing higher and higher. Jesus, he was fucking close to coming and he didn't even have his pants off. He felt like a teenager dry humping his first love on the family sofa. Fuck, but this was so much better.

She began to keen with each increasingly erratic arc of her body and suddenly rolled to her side, trapping his hand between thighs of steel as she thrust urgently against his palm. Her nails created little half moons of pain along the inside of his wrist and her body trembled with built up energy, just begging to be released. When her thighs contracted around his hand in a vice-like grip, he moved his lips to her ear and whispered encouragement. "You can come for me, Ziva," he coaxed gently. "I've got you."

The cry she gave as her orgasm finally tore through her was one of joy, pain, and relief all bound together. He held her tightly as powerful waves broke over her again and again, her body quaking violently against his. He spoke softly to her as she continued to whimper and tremble, gradually coming down. When she had relaxed slightly he removed his hand from between her thighs and brought it to his lips, inhaling her aroma and licking the remnants of her from his fingertips.

"Mmm," he sighed against her hair, "I'd almost forgotten how good you taste." He was still achingly hard, but he would deal with that himself if it became necessary. Right now, it was only important that she had found the strength to let herself break in the safety of his arms.

She turned over and wrapped herself around his neck, pressing her lips to his as silent tears streamed down her cheeks. When she pulled back she was smiling and he reached up to swipe at the dampness on her skin.

"Thank you, Tony. _Toda Raba_," she whispered gratefully in English and Hebrew.

"_Eyn-Davar, _Ziva,_" _he returned, watching as her eyes widened. "What? Five years with you and you're surprised I've picked up the tiniest bit of Hebrew? _Yediat safa ahat eina maspika_. One language is never enough." He kissed her lustily, becoming aware again of his own unfulfilled need.

"Everything alright?" he asked, as she stretched against him.

"Mmm…" she hummed, a sated smile spreading across her face." I am suddenly quite hungry. I did not eat on the plane."

"You were too busy thinking about all the sex," he accused, sliding away from her. They had all night to pick up where they'd left off if it was what she wanted.

She propped herself up on an elbow, grinning from ear to ear as she watched him bend awkwardly around his erection to retrieve his clothes from the floor. "Tony, I am sorry that we did not…I mean, I think I would still like to…that is, if you would," she said awkwardly. "We have gone this far."

"We have all night and most of the day tomorrow too. I'll be right here."

"You should… ah," she pointed to his waist where his jeans jutted out obscenely. He was not a small man under any circumstances but right now he felt as if he could blow the seams out on his pants.

"Yeah. I think I have a date with a cold shower. Get dressed. You promised me a tour and I intend to collect," he said as he grabbed his bag and headed for the bathroom. At the last minute he took a detour and leaned over the bed to where Ziva still sat flushed and naked atop the covers. Tilting her chin, he kissed her tenderly, slipping his tongue against hers for the briefest moment before dragging her bottom lip between his. "You really are stunning," he murmured as he pulled away.

This was going to be so much more difficult than he had ever imagined.

* * *

**So, if anyone actually knows Hebrew, I hope my online sources got it correct!**

**I'd love to hear what y****ou think of this one since I've kind of turned the corner toward the finish line. I would say at least 2 more chapters to come including a Tony shower scene, a night in Paris, and of course, the big event and discussion to bring us in line with the events in _Jet_**_ Lag._

Thanks again for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

_**Finally! Sorry for the breif delay, RL has been busy but I was able to get to this chapter and get a good start on the next (final?) one. If anyone is still actually reading this, I should warn you that it begins with a healthy dose of smut again but if you don't like reading that just skip to the separation line for a little Parisian evening. I had SO MUCH FUN writing the second half of this. I sincerely hope you are able to picture them in Paris as well as I can and that the humor has translated well onto the page from my imagination. While I am a smut writer at heart, I truly love writing the interactions and conversations for these two just as much.**_

_**Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS but if I did, I would bribe someone to give Mark Harmon and Michael Weatherly Emmys. **_

* * *

Tony stepped fully under the stinging stream of hot water. After a moment's consideration he had forgone the idea of a cold shower, hoping the steaming spray would ease the tension in his muscles and cause the rest of his body to relax naturally.

It wasn't working.

After ten minutes, he was still almost painfully hard and unable to shake the sense memory of Ziva's soft skin sliding beneath his fingertips or clear the echoes of her tiny moans and sighs from his head. Maybe it was that it had been a while since his hands had touched anyone so intimately or maybe it was just her. Regardless, it hadn't taken him this long to walk off a hardon since he was a teenager.

Resigned to the fact that he was going to have to get himself off before being able to appear in public with any decency, he placed one hand against the cool tile, letting the water flow over his back and trickle down his long legs. He closed his eyes and wrapped slick fingers around tight flesh, stroking lightly as he pictured her, draped over his body and shattering to the touch of his hands again and again.

He felt like he should be ashamed or at the very least, embarrassed by just how turned on he was by their encounter. In truth, he felt disturbingly comfortable. It wasn't supposed to be like this for them, _could _never be like this, but he couldn't shake the feeling that they were somehow beginning to right the thing that had really been wrong between them for far too long now.

Setting his rhythm slow and easy, his movements quickly fell into a pattern that had become overly familiar of late. This time, however, the tightening of his body and the quickening of his pulse were fueled by the tangy-musky taste of her that still lingered on his tongue, by the memory of her silken flesh sliding against his lips. He held firm as his body moved inexorably toward release, pumping his hips into his fist as he imagined her body tightening around him.

The hollow click of the glass shower door was the only warning he had that he wasn't alone. With a strained groan, he pulled himself back from the edge of impending orgasm and turned to face the object of his current fantasy.

She stood naked, contemplating him with an odd expression that was part amusement, part trepidation, and a healthy dose of undisguised hunger, licking her lips unconsciously as her eyes trailed down to where his hand still stroked slowly over the stiff evidence of his arousal.

"I don't recall you having a particular inclination toward voyeurism," he panted, still trying to bring his body back under control.

Her hesitation was almost unnoticeable but he saw her eyes darken for just a brief second before she moved closer to him. "You are right. I have always preferred a rather, hands-on approach," she said boldly, slipping up beside him and trailing her fingers over the hand that gripped his cock.

"You don't have to," he said, wishing the words hadn't sounded so half-hearted. She might be the cause of his current state, but he didn't want her to feel obligated to help him out with it.

"I know," she said simply, flashing him a half smile that was all mischief.

Growling low, he pulled her gently under the spray of the shower and pressed his body to hers, slipping his hands around her hips to the small of her back. She molded herself to him obligingly, fingers trailing over his collar bone and around his neck to drag him to her mouth.

Surprised and emboldened by the eagerness of her embrace, he kissed her a little more roughly than he intended, tongue feverishly seeking entrance between her swollen lips as his fingers twined in her hair. She rose up on her toes as his hands urged her higher, slid against his throbbing erection which was pressed tight to her belly.

"I think I've created a monster," he gasped against her open mouth.

"Awoken perhaps, but not created," she said, as she nipped at his lower lip with sharp teeth. "It will get easier for me, I know that now." Her lips trailed over the pulse at his throat. "Now it is time for you to let go."

He let her take control, holding back as her hands searched out the sensitive places of his body. Infuriatingly gentle fingers traced the tendons of his neck, ghosted over the hollow of his throat and slowly began the process of driving him insane. Her thumbs pressed against his flat nipples and she dipped her head, sucking each nub of flesh between her teeth in turn before rubbing her chin against the thick hair in the center of his chest playfully. It was clear she was enjoying his reactions, reveling in the power she had over him, power that fueled her own confidence.

Content with the fact that he was merely a passenger on this little exploratory journey of hers, he closed his eyes and focused on the heat coursing through his body, the muscles that twitched and quivered beneath her touch, and above all, the sweet tingling heaviness below his waist that wrapped around his hips and sent sparks racing along every nerve.

She seemed to be studying every shiver, every soft moan, filing away every secret place that stopped his breath. That thought disturbed him deeply.

He stepped backward until his shoulders met the slightly distracting chill of wet tile. Flattening his hands against the slick surface, he curled his fingers into the rough edges of grout as she opened her mouth to the underside of his throat, nipping lightly before soothing him with the flat of her tongue.

"You're killing me," he growled as her lips trailed over his jaw to the sensitive lobe of his ear, suckling and nibbling the tender flesh until he trembled with the need to put his hands on her.

He was nearly convinced he was simply going to lose consciousness as she drove him higher and higher, teased without giving him the thing he was almost ready to plead for. When keen fingers finally circled the flesh that ached desperately for her, he gave a sharp cry of surprised delight that echoed off the tile.

Experienced hands gripped him with just the right amount of pressure and his body shuddered in response to her touch. Her thumb traced the circle of his head and he leaned forward, angling his hips away to give her room as he gripped her shoulders tightly, gasping and groaning against the long column of her neck. Nimble fingers began to move in long smooth stokes up and down his length and he slowly lost himself to her.

He didn't think it was possible for him to get any harder than he already was but he felt as if he was swelling to the point of rupture beneath her insistent grasp. Hurtling right up to the edge again, he tried to bring himself under control, to prolong and enjoy the sensations exploding through him for as long as possible.

As abruptly as she had begun, she immediately ceased her movements and squeezed him tight, forcing a curse from his lips.

"Fuck, Ziva! Don't stop," he pleaded, his hips bucking against her hardened grip.

"I just wanted to see if I could still make you beg."

He raised his head and tried to focus on her wicked smile. His world was a red haze of need and the unbearable pleasure-pain pressure in his cock. He slammed his mouth to hers, snaking a hand down to her wrist. When he pushed against the pressure point, her grip loosened and he thrust his hips against her palm. The tiny moan she released into his mouth at the contact almost made him lose it completely and he placed a hand over hers, guiding her to the rhythm that would bring him off.

The movements of his hips and tongue became frenzied and frantic and he pulled back, holding his forehead to hers with a firm grip on the back of her neck. The crescendo of his cries echoed into her open mouth and reverberated off the tile walls of the shower. It wasn't like him to be this loud but his body was literally electrified with pleasure and he had no choice but to let it out.

"Gonna come," he panted in warning as his body tightened like a coiled spring. He was so lost that he hadn't even noticed her other hand moving and when her fingers suddenly slipped beneath his balls and pressed lightly upward everything in him let go in an explosion of ecstasy and pinpoints of hot white light.

He held her tight as his body spasmed uncontrollably, spilling against her belly in relentless hot spurts that stole his breath and had him wondering if he would ever _stop_ coming. It felt as if his body were trying to turn itself inside out beginning somewhere near his toes and empty completely through the head of his cock.

Finally, the contractions eased somewhat and he slumped against her, thighs turning to jello. "Sit," he managed.

Firm hands guided him backward to the bench along the wall and he lowered himself gratefully onto the support, gasping as cool glass pressed against parts of him that were _anything _but cold at the moment.

Pulling Ziva close, he ran his tongue in a long line from her navel to the space between her breasts. The water had washed most of the mess from her stomach but he relished the lingering taste of his salty tang mingling with the flavor of her skin. She wrapped her arms around him and held him close, hands tracing the long lines of his back soothingly.

He wasn't sure how long they stayed that way but he gradually became aware of the steady ping of the shower and the fact that they were nearly enveloped in thick steam. With a tiny sigh of regret, he loosened his arms and let her step back. He rose up on legs that still felt a little rubbery and kissed her lightly, tracing the outline of her face with the back of his hand.

"You're amazing," he whispered.

Even in the steamy haze, her demure blush was surprising but unmistakable.

The sharp smack to his ass as they rinsed off was another shock.

"Hey!" he exclaimed, rounding on her.

"I am glad to see you finally took my advice and shaved," she chided.

"It's called Personal Laser Hair Removal," he said defensively, "and a lot of guys are doing it."

"I am not complaining." She rubbed her hand across one rounded cheek. "Mmm…smoother than a baby's bottom."

"Yeah, well, you can't go telling a guy like me he'd have a 5 star butt with a little hair removal and not expect him to actually go out and do it," he said sulkily.

"I did not mind the hair. Gave me something to hang on to."

He rolled his eyes upward. "Now she tells me," he said to the ceiling above them.

* * *

Ziva did not disappoint as a tour guide. She dragged him down a seemingly endless series of narrow twisting streets regaling him with stories of past missions in the city and what she considered to be funny anecdotes, most of which involved her shooting at someone.

They finally arrived at a small but busy bistro tucked between two much larger buildings. On his own, he might have walked right past it but Ziva insisted it was the best place she had ever eaten at in Paris. He had to admit, if the smell was anything to go by, she certainly wasn't wrong about the food.

She ordered for them in a flurry of commanding French. His ire at not being consulted on their dinner was dampened slightly by the pleasure he took in her smile and confidence and cancelled out further when the wine she had selected arrived and turned out to be absolutely luscious.

"Do you like it?" she asked hopefully.

"Mmm…as complex and full bodied as the woman who selected it," he complimented, "but not nearly as delicious." He smiled rakishly, raising his glass to her in a toast. "To Paris," he saluted.

"To Paris, and partners," she added.

He inclined his head and held her eye as he lifted the stem of the glass, letting the aromatic liquid slide down his throat and spread warmth into his chest.

As dishes began to arrive at their table, his admiration for her taste in restaurants only grew. He was a little timid about the _Foie Gras_ but Ziva simply shoved a toasted piece of baguette covered with a healthy dollop of the stuff between his lips until he opened his mouth and took a bite. It was surprisingly smooth and not nearly as gamey as he had suspected. After that, he dug in without hesitation as delicacy after delicacy was presented to them, though he did chuckle a little at the _Cuisses de Grenouille_.

"I thought you might enjoy that just a little." Ziva smiled wickedly at him over her fork. "Though they really are quite delicious."

As delectable and intoxicating as the meal was, he found himself more focused on his dinner companion than on the food. He seemed to be almost hyper aware of everything about her after their activities back at the hotel. Her knee pressed against his beneath the table and he could feel the heat of her seeping into him through two layers of clothing. He was hypnotized by the way her lips closed around a forkful of their _Chateaubriand_, how her finger idly traced the delicate stem of her wine glass, how her eyes fluttered closed in delight each time she placed the crystal rim to her lips and let the rich ruby liquid slide into her mouth and over her tongue.

It wasn't terribly long before she caught him watching her. Her eyes widened and she was clearly stunned by whatever it was she found in his gaze. She froze beneath his green eyed stare with her glass halfway back to the table and pondered him with a thoughtful expression on her face. Her lips parted slightly as if she wanted to say something but then she drew back, shaking her head and clearing her throat in an attempt to shed the awkwardness of the moment.

"So," she said, placing her napkin on her plate, "I hope dinner in Paris was everything you had desired."

"Better than I had dreamed of, actually," he said, taking the last sip of his wine. "The food was pretty amazing too," he added nonchalantly, tidying the table in front of him.

Their bill was brought to them and placed discreetly in front of Tony. He had only a moment to notice that the bottom line looked like a whole lot of Euros before Ziva snatched it from his grasp.

"Tonight is my treat, Tony." She quickly handed it to the waiter with a credit card.

"We have a food allowance, Ziva," he argued.

"Not for this," she laughed.

"Alright then, thank you for dinner," he said graciously. "I just hope you don't expect me to put out because you paid. It is our first date and all."

"First and only," she tossed at him with a smile.

They studied each other across the table, a thousand unspoken things passing between them in the silence until the waiter intruded with the check for Ziva to sign.

"Merci," she said as she handed him the check and pushed herself back from the table. "I do have one more place I would like to take you that I think you will enjoy." Her eyes sparkled mysteriously.

"_Apres vous, mon amour_. " He gestured toward the door, smiling to himself when she nearly stumbled at the endearment.

Back out on the street she hailed a taxi to take them to their next destination. She whispered instructions to the cab driver who nodded and took off down the winding street without hesitation.

"So, where are we off to now? Moonlight cruise on the Seine? Notre Dame by the stars? Streaking beneath _Le Tour d'Eiffel_?" he suggested.

"It is a surprise. In fact, you should close your eyes."

"No blindfold in your pocket, huh? Shame."

"Tony," she warned.

"Okay, okay, I'll play along with your little game." He reached up and loosened his tie, pulling it from around his neck and handing it to Ziva. "As I recall, thought, we always agreed on a safety word before you blindfolded me."

Her fingers froze in the act of securing the cloth across his eyes. "Not anymore," she said quietly.

_Shit_.

He turned to her and yanked the fabric out of the way, catching her downturned face between his palms. "Damn it. I'm sorry. Everything was just so…I forgot for a minute." He mentally kicked himself.

She smiled sadly and gently pushed his hands away. "It is alright, I know you did not mean anything by it." She rested her hand over his heart. "Some things will never be as they once were."

Once his sight was effectively obscured, without idiotic comments this time, they rode in silence for several minutes. Somewhere on their journey, her hand crept into his and he clasped it gratefully, finally reassured that his insensitivity was forgiven.

When the cab came to a halt, Ziva paid the driver and walked around to guide him from the car to the curb. He could hear the sounds of crowds of people speaking in a multitude of languages and music echoing through the street. Stepping carefully, he allowed her to lead him toward the source of the cacophony.

Blinking as she unbound his eyes, he was confronted by an almost otherworldly sight. A giant ponderous pinwheel of light spun above a building covered in flashing neon. He turned to Ziva, eyes wide in disbelief. "You didn't."

"I did." She flashed him a satisfied smile."While you were in the shower. You are not the only one who can call in favors."

He grasped her shoulders and kissed her hard and fast on the mouth. "Best. Partner. Ever," he exclaimed.

She laughed at his boyish enthusiasm. "I did have an ulterior motive," she confessed. "I think Gibbs would be suspicious if you did not use at least some of your time in Paris to see topless dancing girls."

"These aren't any topless dancing girls, Ziva," he chastised. "This is the Moulin Rouge, the most famous cabaret in the world." He gestured grandly at the twinkling façade.

"I am well aware, Tony. I once spent a month undercover as a dancer here to make inroads with a member of the Palestinian cabinet who was a regular patron. How do you think I secured the tickets on such short notice?" she asked casually.

He thought he felt his jaw hit the cement. "You…You were..," he motioned to the building, unable to form a coherent sentence.

"Do not look so shocked, Tony," she laughed. "I do not think I will ever understand the prudish nature of Americans when it comes to nudity."

"I think I need a drink," he mumbled, raking a hand through his hair.

"We must hurry. The seating for our show ends soon." She pulled him toward the crowd at the entrance.

They were seated at a small table close to the stage. A bottle of champagne appeared with the compliments of the house. Apparently Ziva had left a lasting impression during her short time here.

As the show began, he became entranced by the glittering costumes and the music that swelled around them. More importantly though, there was an entire stage full of bare breasted women so close he could almost reach out and touch them. The lead dancer drew his eye and held it. As a man who had seen more than his fair share of breasts in all shapes and sizes during his lifetime, hers were the most perfect and symmetrical he had ever seen.

He jumped when Ziva's hand slipped up his thigh and she leaned over to press her lips to his ear.

"If you think they _look_ good, you should feel them," she whispered. "Trust me, they are amazing."

Every ounce of breath left his body in a strangled gasp. This woman would never cease to surprise him.

After that, it was nearly impossible to focus on the show. His eyes drifted more and more often to Ziva who sipped idly at her champagne and watched the show with a generally content but passive expression. She looked tired and when the next act ended, he took her hand and pulled her to her feet.

"Okay, Sally Bowles, shows over."

"But there is still more," she argued, though he could see she was relieved he had suggested going.

He leaned in and pressed his lips to her cheek. "The only other woman I want to see naked tonight is you."

* * *

_**And cut...**_

_**If you're still reading, I would love to hear your thoughts, comments, and even criticism (as long as it's not petty grammar stuff as this is un-beta'd anyway. I know I'm nowhere near perfect in that respect!).**_

_**Thanks for reading!**_


	8. Chapter 8

_**40 minutes to go until NCIS! **_

_**This was a difficult chapter to write and is once agains super long. Dont have too much to say except that I really didnt give this a good edit because I was in a hurry so I hope there are no horrendously distracting errors.**_

_**I don't own NCIS but if I did, that elevator would have been a'rockin'.**_

* * *

She fell asleep against his shoulder in the cab.

It wasn't exactly the way he pictured their night in Paris ending but then again, nothing about this trip had been anything like he had pictured it. Well, except for the cabaret dancers. He felt he should be disappointed somehow. All the build-up, all the anticipation and now she was snoring softly against him in the back of a taxi.

But in fact, he felt no disappointment, not a trace of it. In fact, as his fingers tenderly toyed with one of her errant curls, he was absolutely suffused with a sense of deep contentment. It had been a long and eventful day for both of them and between the flight, the food, the mind blowing orgasm, and the wine, he had to admit, he could desperately use a few hours sleep himself.

The lights of Paris became a blur outside his window and he stared blankly at the winking miasma of luminescence, allowing the significance and poignancy of the day to wash over him. He clasped Ziva's limp wrist tenderly and raised it to his lips, pressing his mouth to her pulse in a gesture of reverence, lingering for longer than he intended as an unexpected hard lump began to form in his throat. She stirred slightly and he placed her hand over his heart, exhaling in a long sigh and wondering if she would somehow feel the twisting ache beneath her palm.

When they pulled up in front of the hotel, he kissed her forehead and gently shook her awake. She was slightly disoriented and adorably sleepy so he paid the driver and then helped her from the cab, circling an arm around her waist for support. She leaned drowsily against his chest in the elevator and murmured something incomprehensible in Hebrew when he wrapped his arms around her and silently willed the car to move just a bit slower.

Once inside their room, she disappeared into the _en suite _to wash her face and change and he stepped out into the hall, taking the opportunity to make a few quick calls that might just make their day tomorrow a much better one. When he flipped open his phone and scrolled through his contacts, Gibbs' name seemed to glare at him from the screen and he quickly passed it by as if just looking too long at the letters would somehow allow Gibbs to read the thoughts in his head.

After he had completed his little bit of business, business he was pretty sure he would have to pay handsomely for somewhere down the line, he stepped back into the room and eyed the bed with a deep sense of longing. Sleep was quickly becoming a necessity.

He managed to stay alert long enough to take his turn brushing his teeth and when he returned to the bedroom, Ziva had already climbed beneath the soft comforter and closed her eyes.

She looked fragile and angelic with her hair spread out on the pillow around her and as always, he found it impossible to believe that such a peaceful exterior could conceal a woman who knew more creative ways to kill a man than he could ever dream of.

His gut wrenched as the memory of her in a strikingly similar pose aboard the carrier right after Somalia suddenly flashed in his head and he had a hard time convincing himself that those events were even real.

Everything outside of their room seemed so far away; Gibbs, NCIS, the late and lonely nights when he dreaded going home to an empty apartment, nights when he busied himself with work that could wait for the next day just so he would have an excuse to time his exit with hers and spend those few precious moments alone in the elevator with her. In this room, for this night, she was real and she was warm and she was in his bed, and for this night alone, nothing existed outside of their own tiny bubble. They were living in a fantasy world but he would be damned if he wasn't going to hang on to it by the tips of his fingers for as long as the real world would let him.

Slowly removing his clothing, he hesitated for a moment before adding his boxers to the pile on the chair and switching off the light beside the bed. As he slipped between the sheets, he suppressed a groan when he came into contact with Ziva's warm bare flesh.

She raised her head slightly from her pillow as he moved in close, allowing him to gather her in his arms so that her head was tucked beneath his chin, but when his hand slid over the skin of her back she tensed and he was afraid that he had pushed her too far.

"Everything okay?" he asked, concerned.

"Yes," she said quietly, her muscles still tightly bunched.

Confused, he began to circle his hand soothingly, stopping when he suddenly realized the source of her unease. "Is it this?" he asked, tracing the slightly puckered outline of a long, crescent shaped scar.

She didn't say anything but her breathing hitched a bit and he felt dampness against his skin.

He tightened his arms around her. "Hey, if you think this is bad, I'll show you the x-rays of my lungs when we get back to DC," he chided.

"No one looks at the inside of your lungs, Tony, no one touches them," she sniffed.

Ignoring her discomfort, he continued to run his hand in smooth strokes over her skin. "Anyone in your life who doesn't think that these make you even more beautiful can answer to me." He kissed the top of her head and twined their fingers atop his stomach.

She gave a few more muffled hiccups and sniffles but eventually quieted and relaxed.

"Where is this Tony DiNozzo hiding most of the time?" she asked as her fingers combed through the thick patch of hair below his throat.

He shifted uncomfortably and silently damned himself for allowing her tears to wash away his walls even temporarily. "Oh, he's always here, somewhere. Usually hiding beneath a few layers of bullshit, I suppose." He laughed hollowly and shook his head. There was really no easy way out of the conversation so he plowed on. "See, the problem with this Tony is that his apparent strength is really his weakness. He's too soft, too vulnerable. Wears his heart on his sleeve like a big giant bullseye. It leaves him far too open to…"

"Being loved?" she interrupted.

"Being hurt," he corrected.

"And if you cannot have one without the other?"

"I'm still trying to figure that out," he confessed, pressing his lips to her hair and inhaling her sweet scent. He couldn't currently remember a time when he had allowed himself to be so completely open with another person.

He really hoped he would snap out of it soon.

Ziva yawned loudly and curled against him, burrowing into his side and tucking feet that felt like icebergs between his calves. He glanced at the clock next to him. It was only slightly past midnight, still early back in DC and yet he felt utterly exhausted. As he drifted from consciousness, it occurred to him that he never slept more peacefully than he did with her in his arms.

* * *

The room was dark when he woke to the strange yet delightful feeling of Ziva's tongue tracing moist lazy circles around his right nipple. When she realized he was alert, she flattened her hand against his stomach to hold him in place and continued to suckle him teasingly.

"Someone's awake," he mumbled groggily, his body going from relaxed to aroused in the space of a heartbeat.

"Very," she purred, as she rose up on her knees, pushing back the covers and working her way slowly down his torso. Her mouth painted his skin with strings of wet, open-mouthed kisses that left a trail of tingling flesh across his abdomen but came to a maddening halt just before things got _really_ interesting.

Situating herself with a knee on either side of his right thigh, she sat back on her heels and brought her hand to her lips, dipping her fingers into her open mouth. He felt himself begin to harden as she trailed their moistened tips across her breasts and over her flat belly in agonizing slow motion before slipping her hand between her parted thighs. Her head dropped back and she circled her hips against her own palm with a low moan, raising her other hand to twist and pinch a firm nipple.

Paralyzed by the astonishingly lovely sight of his partner pleasuring herself in the soft moonlight that seeped in through the curtains, he was powerless to do anything more than watch and try to remember to breathe.

After a moment, she withdrew her hand and beckoned him forward. He pressed himself up on his elbows obediently as she reached out and stroked damp fingers against his lips. His tongue darted out and lapped greedily at her offering, savoring the flavor of her as it exploded into his mouth and overwhelmed his senses.

Smiling wickedly at his obvious enjoyment, she leaned back and glanced down to admire his body's reaction to her. "Impressive," she said, raising an eyebrow at the fact that he was already completely hard, his erection straining in a long gentle arc to rest on his stomach

"I always was quick on my feet."

"Not too quick, I hope." She slowly straddled his hips, holding his eyes as he relaxed back against the pillows. Taking him between her palms, she caressed his length and slowly spread the moisture that had already formed at his tip with knowing fingers. He twitched eagerly in her grasp as she subjected him to her tender torments and fought fiercely against the urge to flip her onto the mattress and turn the tables.

When she had him panting and moaning enough for her liking, she released him and moved forward so that he could feel her heat hovering tantalizingly close to his cock. He cursed under his breath and gripped the sheets in tight fists as she lowered herself and covered him without allowing him entrance, slid forward and back along his length with a careful arc of her hips to paint him with her moisture.

It was at that moment he realized she was trembling slightly, that her whole body was tight as a bowstring. Her face grew suddenly serious as she gazed down at him. "Tony…" she said hesitantly, her confidence waning just a little at the last second.

Sitting up fully, he pushed his hands deep into her wild curls and brushed his lips gently across hers, forced her to meet his eyes. "Ziva, do you trust me? Do you trust that I would never do something that you didn't want?"

She shivered but her shoulders dropped a few inches. "I trust you, Tony," she said evenly, making sure he felt the truth of her words.

He pressed light kisses across her cheeks and eyelids, swiped the tip of her nose with his own and coaxed her lips apart, slowly tasting each in turn. There was no demand in his touch, only a tender offering.

"It's not too late to change your mind if you want to," he breathed against her open mouth.

"I do not wish to change my mind. Do you?" She twined her arms around his neck.

Pulling back far enough to focus, he brushed the curls from her face and smiled. "Not even if Gibbs was standing outside that door listening to us right now."

"This is for us, Tony. Not for Gibbs, not for the past or the future, only us, right now."

He slowly crossed his ankles beneath her, forcing her to slip closer. She shifted and wrapped her long legs around him, settling into his lap. Reaching for the bedstand, he quickly extracted one of the foil packets he had concealed there earlier and handed it to her.

His hand left her hair and trailed slowly down her back and over her hip, skated across her taut belly and combed through her sparse curls. She rolled back slightly and he slipped his fingers into the center of her heat, parting her slick folds with deliberate fingers while she rolled the circle of latex securely over his length.

She gasped as he caressed her, his touch tender but focused as he dipped a finger inside and grazed the sides of her clit without making contact with the sensitive nub directly. Coaxing and teasing all her most sensitive places with expert fingers, he felt her skin begin to radiate warmth as she flushed with desire. When her teeth sank lightly into his shoulder, he grasped his erection and positioned himself at her entrance, jaw tensing as moist delicious heat closed over the tip of his cock. He leaned back and lifted her up and forward to find the right angle, held his breath as she slowly sank down with a delicate whimper to sheath him completely and join their bodies.

"Hey there," he whispered, wrapping and arm around the small of her back and pulling her close. He could feel her body adjusting to him, stretching and quivering around his girth in tiny delightful ripples. "This is nice," he said breathlessly.

"Mmm…Very nice." She circled her hips slightly to test the feeling of being filled by him and released a shuddering sigh.

"You okay?" he asked, already reeling from the heady sensation of being encased snuggly in her tight velvety warmth.

She nodded in silent affirmation, mouth seeking his urgently as she began to move. Her fingernails burrowed into his shoulders and she tightened her legs around him rhythmically, rolling her hips against his in short measured strokes.

Correction, she was _very_ okay.

The memories he had tucked away of their past union did nothing to prepare him for what he was experiencing now.

From their first encounter, she'd known her way around his body almost as well as if he'd given her a map, known how to drive both of them right to the brink, giving and taking as she pleased but always staying in command of her own responses. They had been feeding an urge then, scratching an itch with no thought other than their own gratification.

Now, he felt intimately connected to her as she abandoned control and became a wild and untamed thing in his arms. He supported her as she lost herself to the instincts of her body, encouraged her while she writhed against him, ascended with her as bliss and need drove them higher and higher.

Her muted moans became keening whimpers became soft plaintive cries as he lightly tugged the hair at the back of her head just the way she liked, surveyed ever inch of the column of her throat with his lips and tongue, suckled her pounding pulse point until her warmth and taste filled his mouth. She twisted in his arms, rubbing her taut nipples in tight circles against the soft fur of his chest until her legs began to shake.

The shifting pressure as her walls caressed him fed the tension coiling tighter and tighter between his hips but kept the edge maddeningly beyond his reach. He ached for more friction, more control, but he would wait for her to take what she needed first.

Careful not to be too rough, he grasped her hips and leaned back to give her more room to move, grinding up into her in time with each arc of her body. "Tony!" she gasped, her face becoming a concentrated mask of elation when he found just the right tempo, just the right pressure to force her to break.

Her hands flexed and tensed against his back, and he felt the powerful tide of her orgasm as she squeezed and fluttered around him, shattered with a strained and breathless cry that probably had their neighbors' interest piqued. He sought her mouth and swallowed her ecstatic shuddering sighs, holding her tight as she continued to quake.

He gave her no time to recover as he rolled her backwards onto the mattress, placed a hand beneath her knee, and thrust into her with a strangled groan, finally giving his body what it craved so desperately.

Worried that his taking control was too much for her, he hesitated and pulled back to gauge her reaction.

Her hand immediately closed over his ass and pulled him back. "Anthony DiNozzo, if you stop now, I swear I will kill you with my _pinkey_ nail!" she growled in his ear as she twisted her hips against him, still lost in the flood.

His low snarl was the only warning he gave as he set up a relentless and driving rhythm designed to make him come fast and hard. Ziva was reaching for a second peak, meeting his every stroke with tight circles of her hips as plunged into her body again and again unrelentingly. Every muscle and nerve pounded and throbbed with the need for release but he held on against the tight pressure spreading from the base of his spine.

"Please!" Ziva panted beneath him, her fingernails raking the skin of his back in desperation.

Through the haze of his own passion, he realized she was holding on for him this time.

"With me," he choked out hoarsely, giving mere seconds of warning before he spilled inside her with a final hard thrust. Using the crux of her shoulder to muffle his harsh staccato groans, he surrendered to the liquid heat flowing through his limbs and let the contractions of his body empty him completely.

Ziva's well toned muscles contracted hard around him as she came again and he felt as though his skin might actually fly off. He had no choice but to hold on as she tensed and quivered around flesh that was far too sensitive to endure much more.

Finally, her body went limp and he carefully held the edge of the condom around him and withdrew with a strangled sigh. The shock of leaving her warmth was an unpleasant one to say the least but he used the last of his energy to quickly dispense with the messy but necessary job of disposal and then collapsed on his back beside her to try and catch his breath. Minutes ticked by as his body slowly cooled and he let himself drift in the lovely space between the waking world and dreams.

She draped a dewed and lifeless arm across his chest to reconnect them and he clasped her hand, emerging from his cloud and rolling onto his side to nuzzle her neck tenderly. As their bodies twined, he breathed a sated sigh against her damp curls and traced the outline of her ear with the tip of his nose.

"I do not remember you being so cuddly after sex," she murmured languidly.

"I don't remember you being so sexy after sex, or during for that matter." He gently tugged her earlobe with his teeth.

"It was rather…"

"Incredible?"

"Intense." She squeezed his hand.

"I'll take it." His tongue rasped insistently at the sensitive spot behind her ear while his hand crept up to toy with her breast.

"You cannot possibly be ready for round two after that, "she whispered incredulously as her heart rate began to speed up again.

"I think you might just be surprised by what I'm ready for, Agent David." He shifted his weight and traced the line from her jaw to her right breast with a hungry mouth. "Give me a half hour and a glass of water and I'm good to go. Meanwhile," he blew warm air over the nipple he had just moistened with his tongue, "this next round's on me."

* * *

Later, when they'd had their fill of each other and lay exhausted and stretched out at odd angles across the top of the mattress, Ziva began the conversation they both knew had to happen.

"Do you think it was like this for them?" she whispered into the half-darkness.

He stroked her ankle idly. "Jenny and Gibbs? I don't know, maybe. I think it was more complicated."

"More complicated than you and I?" she laughed.

"They worked undercover together a long time. That can really mess with your head." He thought of his own trip down the rabbit hole.

"I knew Jenny long before I ever met Gibbs. I saw from the moment I met her that she was a woman haunted by something from her past and that it had very little to do with life under deep cover. I believe she loved Gibbs very much, cover or not."

He nodded, more to himself than for her benefit. "He always watched over her, had her back, even when she made it nearly impossible. I think he loved her the only way he knows how to love anyone anymore; from a distance."

"How did they walk away, do you think? Was it really that easy?"

"I think it was pretty clear even ten years later that it wasn't easy. They had to make a choice. It's never easy to let go of something like that even if you know it has to be done." He knew she could read between the lines on that one.

She was quiet for a moment and when she spoke again, her voice was hesitant and somewhat sad. "And...what if I do not want to choose, Tony? What if I want both?"

He sighed in resignation, willing her to understand what he was about to tell her, what he had been thinking about for longer than he was really ready to admit to her. "We're extraordinary partners, Ziva. We're inside of each other's heads at least half the day, every day, anticipating, seeing each situation from complimentary angles. We make our differences work for us in the field, on every single case no matter how much we may disagree. We trust each other, depend on each other, would stand in front of a _bullet_ for each other if it came to it. As agents, we're good for each other and I wouldn't choose another partner if I had anyone in any agency in the world to choose from."

"Thank you, Tony, but I am not sure I see your point."

"The point is, we're exceptional at our jobs. It's the rest of life where we both still need some work." He rolled onto his side and propped himself up on his elbow, staring up the length of her body as he gently traced the curve of her calf. "I'm still a self-centered, childish, egomaniacal skirt-chaser with a penchant for annoying movie trivia, one-night stands, and a desperate fear of intimacy and commitment."

"Not to mention your abandonment issues and your persistent terror of becoming your Father," she snorted.

"Hey, you really wanna compare Daddy issues, Ms. David?" He pinched the soft flesh of her inner thigh playfully.

She chuckled lightly and the sound spread warmth through his chest. "No Tony, I suppose that I am not one to cast bones."

"Stones," he corrected out of habit. "The point is, I wouldn't be any good for you right now and you're in no position to have a relationship with someone until you get past this little crisis of faith you're having about your ninja assassin past. I'm not willing to sacrifice the one thing we absolutely have on our side to pursue something neither of us is really ready for and I don't think you are either." Moving up her body, he pulled her against him and held her, clinging to the miracle of her comforting weight in his arms for just a little longer.

"I want to be ready for it," she confessed, turning her face up to him.

He kissed her gently, tracing his fingers over her brow and the curve of her hairline. "So do I. I think this just means we both have some things to think about."

"I don't know how to do this Tony, I don't know how to walk away from this and pretend."

His thumb traced the shadow of her cheek bone. "Sure you do. Think of the deepest cover you've ever had to create, the hardest lie you've ever had to tell. By this time tomorrow Paris will be a fading memory and a week from now, you'll have a hard time convincing even yourself that this ever even happened."

"I do not think I could lie to Gibbs. Not directly anyway."

"Then don't lie. I can't imagine he'll ask what happened here. There's a part of him that knows better. Just think of it as our version of 'don't ask, don't tell'. Of course, if you want to tell, I'm not going to stop you."

"And when I don't want to pretend anymore?"

"When that day comes, we'll talk about Paris. Until then…"

"You are my arrogant partner whose chauvinistic behavior, unprofessionalism, and childish antics set my teeth on edge," she supplied far too easily.

"And you are my sexy ninja partner whose knife collection turns me on and who is in direct competition for the attention of the one man whose good opinion means the world to me. Oh, and you also secretly want my body," he added.

"Come to think of it, perhaps pretending to be constantly annoyed by you will not be so difficult," she swatted him with the back of her hand.

"See, I knew you could do it," he smiled.

The silence of the room closed in around them.

Ziva craned her neck to look at the clock. "We have to leave for the airport soon. She'll be waiting."

"Actually, we don't have to leave quite as soon as you think. I made a few calls."

"You made a few calls? Tony, is there anyone out there in the world who does not owe you a favor?"

"Trust me, I owe more that I'm owed. Let's just say our plane will be undergoing a little extra maintenance before being allowed in the air today. I've bought us another six hours."

"And the rest of the people on the plane who will be delayed?"

"Are not as important to me as you are." He finished. "Besides, I had to make absolutely certain of the safety of our witness right?"

"I suppose a few more hours in Paris will not be too difficult to take," she sighed, snuggling back into his warmth.

"Don't get too comfortable, we have a whole lot of city to see in six hours." He softly nudged her ribs.

"Mmm…ten more minutes," she muttered lazily.

"Five," he acquiesced, giving her bottom a gentle slap. If he could, he would give her a lifetime.

* * *

_**Okay, so still an epilogue to go. Hopefully tonights ep doesn't ruin where I want that to go! Thank you all again for taking this journey. I hate when my fics get this long because I have a really hard time keeping things cohesive. I appreciate your kind words and your patience!**_


	9. Epilogue

**Here it is good readers, the final stop on our journey. I have set the epilogue after the events of the Season x opener and before the writers have had a chance to ruin all the Tiva goodness. **

**I have enjoyed writing this immensely and I am sad to see it end. I will eventually be cross posting this over on AO3 as well if you like reading there better. **

**Thank you so much for the comments and please let me know what you think of the final result. This is a bit more fluffy than I intended but I hope I have captured the playful and serious elements of their relationship.**

**I don't own NCIS.**

* * *

Tony rubbed his thumb back and forth across his chin, stroking the hint of stubble that was the result of 36 straight hours on the job. He'd managed to grab a shower somewhere in there but extra time for the luxury of a shave had eluded him. He glanced down at the dashboard clock. It had been an hour already and he couldn't remember exactly what it was he was waiting for anymore.

Tonight wasn't the first night he'd sat at her curb in the last month, engine running, heart and mind racing after a day that twisted his stomach and made his legs feel as if they were slowly sinking into soft earth as burden after crushing burden was tied around his shoulders. He found it curious how that weight never seemed to ease any more, even after they solved a case.

The cold concrete steps leading to his empty apartment had become harder to climb every night and the persistent nagging voice in the back of his head that kept telling him it was past time to man up about a few things had been virtually screaming at him whenever he turned left out of the parking garage to go home instead of taking a right to bring him back to this curb and the warm light that shone from her window.

Sometimes he asked her for a drink. Sometimes she accepted. Other times, he just needed to be closer to her, to think, to hold himself back until the moment her light finally winked out and he could drive away and wait for another day when he might actually have the balls to step out of his car.

He stared at the tiny crumpled piece of paper in his hands where the number 19 was just visible.

It was time.

Seven hours stranded in an elevator with her had convinced him. Seven hours surrounded by her heat, by her smell, seven hours that had only left him wanting more every day since.

Of course he hadn't realized it right away. In those first few days he hadn't been able to put his finger on precisely what was different, he had just felt…off, somehow. He chalked it up to the unsettling sense of vulnerability and insecurity that came with the attack on his home, on the people he loved. Something kept bothering him about the elevator though, something he couldn't put his finger on, a half formed understanding that fluttered infuriatingly just beyond his grasp.

Oddly enough, he was with McGee when it finally hit him.

They were out running down a lead and he was half listening as Tim rambled on about his mandatory counseling session with the head-shrinking Brit, about how it had helped to talk about the fear he had felt not knowing if the rest of the team was safe or not. Suddenly, the thing that had been lurking in the dark recesses of his conscious mind had coalesced into a revelation he felt like a blow to the gut.

He hadn't been afraid.

It wasn't that he hadn't been _concerned_ for the safety of Gibbs or McGee or Abby or anyone of a dozen other people but he was absolutely certain he hadn't felt an iota of fear from the first moment the elevator stopped shaking and Ziva had moved against him to emerge from the rubble unscathed. She was okay and he was okay and _they_ were okay and in that moment nothing else had mattered to him in the world.

The thing that really had him reeling though, the thing that truly tilted his world on its axis, was the sure and certain knowledge that if she _hadn't_ been with him, if he hadn't felt the warm, soft, and indisputable truth of her okay-ness pressed tightly against him, he would have worn his fingers to the bone clawing through four inches of steel to get to her.

The initial shock had lasted only a few heart beats but he had been left with a lingering sense of fuzzy bewilderment and the troubling feeling that something had shifted irrevocably deep inside of him, a tight pressure had formed at the base of his skull that somehow felt just a little bit eased when he sat right here at her curb.

And so he was here and he was tired, _oh so very TIRED, _of fighting against the need for the rest that he had only ever truly found when she was in his arms.

No more waiting, no more masks, no more pretending. He wasn't sure what he was about to do was the right thing, in fact he was pretty damn certain it was tantamount to complete idiocy, but he was just as equally certain that he _had _to do something before he completely lost his mind and his nerve.

He stepped out of the car and began the long journey up the walk to her apartment building, focused on the beckoning glow from her kitchen window. It had to be just his imagination but he could swear his feet felt lighter with every single step. He was almost halfway from the curb to her front door when her apartment suddenly went dark.

He froze. _Of all the dumb luck_.

Balancing on the sharp edge of relief and disappointment, he turned dejectedly to kick at a speck of dirt on the cement and began walking slowly back to his car.

"Tony?"

Ziva's voice calling his name sent his heart up into his throat.

She had just emerged from the building and was now walking quickly toward where he stood rooted to the pavement. Every single bit of the determination he had been so carefully cultivating seemed to drain out through the soles of his Italian leather shoes.

"Were you looking for me?" she asked.

"I was just…I just wanted to see if you were…" he took a deep breath and resolved to be less twitchy about the whole thing. "Yes, I was coming to see you."

"Finally tired of sitting in your car?" she chided, knowingly.

"No. I mean yes. But you were just…" he gestured to where her car was parked.

"Going to see a friend," she finished for him.

"Right." He studied her expression which remained maddeningly unreadable. "You knew I was out here?"

"Yes."

"How long?" he asked, although he already suspected what her answer would be.

"Every night," she said gently.

He would have expected her to be angry or at the very least to confront him about his pseudo stalking behavior if she was aware of it. Instead, there was something in her tone that flirted with the edge of a memory.

"And you didn't say anything?" he pressed.

"I liked knowing you were there," she admitted. "I hoped you would come in when you were ready."

"I was coming in."

"I know."

"And you were just leaving."

"Yes."

"So," he began awkwardly.

"So?" There was a casual challenge in her voice.

"So… I should let you go to see your _friend_ and I can see you tomorrow at the office." He reached down and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear somewhat sadly."Goodnight, Ziva." He hesitated a moment more but finally turned away reluctantly and started for his car.

"Tony," she called after him.

He paused, car door open as she came around the hood slowly.

"You do not have to go. The friend I wanted to see tonight, he is not at home."

"Then why were you going to see him?" he asked, puzzled.

She regarded him calmly with a look that conveyed the surprisingly infinite patience of those who are accustomed to perpetually waiting on the colossally thick headed.

His eyes widened slightly as realization dawned. "Oh."He shook his head, trying to wrap his brain around this turn of events. "_OH!_"

Ziva stepped closer, placing her hand over his and studying him for a long moment. "I have been thinking, Tony. Actually, I have been thinking for some time now. Franks, Ray, EJ and her team, Dearing... I just…It is all just too much, and I am so tired, so very, very tired," she sighed. "I have to believe that there is something good out there in the world for me."

Panic rushed in like the tide. "You're not thinking of leaving NCIS are you? Ziva…" His heart twisted at the mere thought that one day she wouldn't be there, that in all his hesitation he could have missed his window.

"No," she quickly reassured him."I am not thinking of leaving. NCIS is my home, my family, I do not know what I would do without…" she trailed off, unable to finish, silently begging him to understand the things she couldn't say.

He clasped her hand tightly and slowly closed the car door. "Me too."

"But I need something more in my life than all of these monsters, or I fear I will lose sight of exactly what it is we are fighting for every day."

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears and his jaw tightened as he fought hard against the urge to reach out to her.

"Tony, I want to talk…" her voice broke but she gathered herself and continued. "I want to talk about Paris." The words emerged as little more than a whisper as she searched his eyes for any kind of reaction.

"You want to talk about Paris?" he echoed incredulously. It wasn't that he didn't understand what she meant, more that his brain was just having an exceptionally difficult time producing any type of coherent thought at the moment.

"Yes. Tony why are you laughing?" she asked angrily.

He couldn't help it. He had felt it bubbling up his throat the minute the words were out of her mouth and now he was virtually doubled over and breathless. Ziva muttered a long string of curses under her breath in Hebrew and pain exploded in his ear as she twisted the sensitive cartilage between her fingers and pulled him upright.

"OWOWOWOWOW," he whined. Her face had lost all traces of vulnerability and showed absolutely no signs of humor.

"You think this is funny DiNozzo? You sit outside my home night after night, make me think there might actually be some thought going on in that hormone addled brain of yours, that maybe, just maybe…"She growled in disgust.

"Ziva, I'm sorry, I just…here." He held out the crumpled scrap of paper that had been clenched tightly in his fist.

She released his ear with a sharp tug. Squinting at the wrinkled fragment and its smudged script, she read aloud slowly, "'Discuss Paris.' Tony, I do not understand, what is this?"

"You know what it is," he said calmly.

"This is from your list of buckets, yes?"

"Bucket list, Ziva."

"And this is why you have been sitting in your car night after night?" There was something familiar about her tone that set off warning bells he chose to ignore.

"Yes."

In retrospect, he should have been much better at reading the warning signs.

Her thumb sank into the dense cluster of nerves in his side and his knees buckled as his breath left his body.

"That is for making me say it first," she huffed.

"I deserved that," he groaned, straightening slowly and carefully. He was incredibly grateful for the solid surface of the car behind him a moment later as her unexpected and exuberant embrace nearly knocked him off his feet.

Her soft and searching lips parted eagerly against his as she clung to his neck, swallowing his sigh when the warm, familiar taste of her spilled into his mouth. Hands that had shown restraint for far too long traced the curves of her body like fond memories, relearned the texture of her curls as they slipped softly between his fingers.

His head was swimming when she finally released him. "I _really _hope I deserved _that," _he sighed breathlessly against her ear.

"Mmm…that was for Paris," she murmured, gently pulling away from him,"and for bringing me home."

"You thanked me for that a long time ago," he traced the line of her jaw, mentally calculating the seconds it would take to get her up the front walk and into the house, wondering if he had the will power to hold out that long before he could touch her again.

"I did not thank you for bringing _all_ of me home again, Tony, for helping me put the pieces back together again."

The light in her eyes shook something loose inside of him and the weight around his neck that had been dragging him down suddenly became completely insubstantial and floated away.

"Will you come inside now?" she asked.

"You couldn't keep me out if you tried."

"Not even if Gibbs was behind the door with a shotgun?"

"Not even if…"He hesitated. "He's not, right?"

She smiled and held out her hand. "We _will_ have to face him eventually, Tony."

"Yeah, but eventually isn't tonight. Eventually doesn't have to be anytime soon?" he asked hopefully.

"I suppose that depends on how long it takes to accomplish the rest of the things on your list. I'd hate to see him kill you before you got to number six." She smiled wickedly.

He twined his fingers with hers. "I think I'm beginning to regret this already," he mumbled.

"Careful, or I will not let you do page 57 with me tonight."

"Page 57?" He shook his head. This was something he should remember.

She leaned over and whispered in his ear.

It wasn't clear exactly what he tripped over. "Is this before or after the talking?"

"Who knows," she shrugged. "Perhaps even during."

It was going to be a very long night.

* * *

**Thank you again for reading.**

**For those with short term memory problems like me, Page 57 refers to an exchange between Tony and Ziva at the beginning of season 3. **


End file.
